


Just One Dance (Full Length Version)

by sosaveme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Based Off Of A One-Shot, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Family Secrets, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, More tags to be added, Original Character - Freeform, Please leave a comment, Quidditch, Seeing the future, Slow Burn, Struggling with Identity, The End, Yule Ball, also on fanfiction.net, anyway, because he doesn't want help, blaise just wants to help, but draco's really difficult, but only at first, cross-posted on ffn, draco is lost without help, fluff later on, harry potter fourth year, he gets over it eventually, he's not having any of the emotional crap, in the closet, like lost lost, no maybe not yet, references to asking alexandria songs, ron's a jerk, seriously without blaise and snape he'd be a wreck in this story, snape is draco's advisor, trying to prevent the future, working to save someone's life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sosaveme/pseuds/sosaveme
Summary: Draco Malfoy has secrets. The kind his family wishes could have died generations before.Harry Potter is facing death, looming before him under the alias of the Triwizard Tournament.And if things don't go right, the wizarding world could burn, and it all depends on whether or not Draco save Harry.But can he do that and manage a stressful fourth year at Hogwarts, all while trying to keep the family secret under wraps?Chapters 1-16 have been betaed by the amazing quantum_leek (@ Quantum Leek on FFN)! VeelaGio (FFN) is helping me update mistakes present in previous chapters and will also help with the remainder of the story. Many thanks to the both of them!





	1. The Quidditch World Cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I said I would, so here it is: the full-length Just One Dance! But don’t worry—you don’t have to have read the original to read this; it was just a one-shot I posted back in September of 2017. Also, many thanks to my beta, Quantum Leek (FFN).
> 
> Next:
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I have nothing to do with the world that was created by JK Rowling, except for the fact that I am a fan. The only thing in this story that is mine is the plot line, which is based off of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
> 
> Third, this is based off of a one-shot that I wrote about a year ago. It's also on FFN. The posting schedule is Saturdays between 5 pm and 9 pm (PST), but I'm really bad about that. In other words, expect no coherent posting schedule, even though I say I have one. =)
> 
> And finally, please leave a comment and kudos! It makes me so happy to hear back from my readers and I hope you enjoy this story!

“Quickly Draco,” snapped Mr. Malfoy. “You will force us to be late if you continue with this sluggish pace.”

 

“I know! I’m moving as fast as I can,” Draco replied irritably. They were going to the Quidditch World Cup and, just as it tended to be with every family outing, Lucius Malfoy was going off at the head about everything that Draco had to do and how perfectly he would have to do it.

 

“ _ Accio hair gel! _ ”

 

The bottle flew across the room and landed right in his hand as he leaned into the light and started lathering it onto his head. Draco wondered what it would have been like to live with a non-magical family and not be able to do magic over summer break. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to manage.

 

He dashed out of the bathroom (at long last), straightened out his shirt, and declared to his father, “See? That wasn’t ‘forever’ and we will not be late.” Lucius liked to rant about how long Draco took to get ready for these things.

 

“It very easily could have been, Draco. And please don’t speak to your father that way,” Narcissa scolded.

 

Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as his mother began to check her handbag.

 

“Well, I think I’m ready to go as well. Lucius, dear, do you have everything?”

 

“Yes,” he responded. “Let us move along now. The Minister wanted us to have lunch with him”—Draco just barely managed to refrain from groaning—“so we must not delay. We are, after all, special guests of his. It would seem improper.”

 

Draco nodded.

 

Lucius and Narcissa both pulled out their wands, and Draco grabbed his mother’s arm. He braced himself for the imminent compressing feeling of apparition that he always hated. He took a deep breath and a second later he was being shoved and stretched and squished and squashed, but almost as soon as it had started it was over.

 

He let out his breath as he felt his feet back on solid ground. They were standing in the middle of a forest with trees that touched the sky standing tall around them. There was a small  _ pop! _ and suddenly a wizard was standing next to them.

 

“Ah, hello Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy, and of course the young Mr. Malfoy,” Barty Crouch said. “I must be going—lots to do—but go that way, by the way; there will be someone to point you in the right direction.” He gestured vaguely to their left before scurrying off in another direction.

 

Lucius wrinkled his nose at Mr. Crouch before turning to where he’d been directed and walking off carefully.

 

Draco and Narcissa followed, and before long they reached a long line of wizards and witches dressed in some of the worst imitations of Muggle clothing that Draco had ever seen. It was as if they hadn’t even tried; his parents, at the very least, could have passed. Not that that would be something they were proud of, but they were very much about public appearance, and ever since the fall of the Dark Lord, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had been very careful about following rules.

 

When they reached the front of the line, a very confused looking Muggle asked for their last name and then directed them towards a tent near the end of the field that they were standing in.

 

As they began to walk, Lucius started to rant about how they couldn’t have just put Ministry officials by the gates to direct people because they didn’t need “scum like the man standing back there” pointing perfectly capable wizards around.

 

Draco tuned his father out and got the feeling that his mother was doing the same. Much of the time, Draco wondered where his father got the ideas that he did. It didn’t seem like people could honestly be worth that much less just because of who they were born to or because they didn’t have magic in their blood. It was like judging someone because their father they had never met was in prison, or because they had blue eyes.

 

Draco had come to that conclusion when he was about thirteen. It had been a hard thing to decide—that his parents might be wrong about something—and it had taken him more than a decade to do, but he’d finally just came to the realization one afternoon when pondering the world. And at the very same moment in time, he realized that he could never—not ever—let on that he thought what he did, because that could spell ruin for his life at home and his relationship with his father. Not that those two weren’t both already in a haphazardous balancing act that threatened to fall the wrong way each and every day of Draco Malfoy’s life.

 

For a while, he had gone along with what his father had said, but he didn’t believe much of it anymore. He had believed it to begin with because, well, that was what most children did. But then he started reading. At Hogwarts, he would check out books from the library about freedom, revolutions, discrimination, hope, and so much more, and before long, it became hard to keep accepting what his father said.

 

“Draco!”

 

Draco flinched. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Father,” he then added belatedly.

 

“I asked you what you think of going to lunch with the Minister.”

 

Draco shrugged and said, “It doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m going anyway and I’m going to behave myself.”

 

“Splendid. Now please, don’t say anything unless you are spoken to or if it’s to thank the Minister for inviting us or something of the sort.”

 

Draco silently nodded.

 

“Answer me, Draco.”

 

Draco forced himself to remain straight-faced (despite the fact that he was very tempted to either glare intensely or roll his eyes) and said, “Yes. Of course, Father.”

 

“That’s better.”

 

“Lucius!” came a voice from behind them. The family of three spun around to find Cornelius Fudge standing there with a smile on his face. “And Narcissa, of course, and Draco. I’m so glad you could make it! Have you just arrived?”

 

“Yes, only a few minutes ago. I’m so very glad that you invited us, Cornelius,” replied Lucius.

 

“You’re quite welcome. Now, I know you probably want to get settled, but if you’d like we could have lunch right now. I’m sure that my house elves have everything prepared!”

 

“That would be lovely,” Lucius responded, sounding like perhaps he did not quite think so.

 

“Excellent! Follow me… my tent is off with the other Ministry ones.”

 

Draco gave a resigned sigh and fell into line behind his father and the Minister.

 

They sat down in a tent that was larger than average on the outside, but probably ten times larger than that on the inside, if not more. There was a table that had been heaped with mounds of food and more than enough seats for all of them in the center of the large main room.

 

The Minister sat down first, and Lucius sat down next to him with Narcissa at his side. That left the only open seat for Draco across from his father and next to the Minister. This didn’t seem like it was going to be fun.

 

“So, what do you think of this year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Lucius?”

 

Lucius pursed his lips. “I think that it is a little bit odd for Dumbledore to put in someone such as Alastor. At one point in time, Moody may have been an apt teacher, but now, it seems he may have become somewhat paranoid.”

 

“I agree with you,” Fudge said softly. “I think that Dumbledore can do better than that old crackpot. Did you hear about the incident at his house earlier today? I think things like that should point to him  _ clearly  _ not being fit to teach.”

 

“It is my opinion that, at this point, Dumbledore would appoint just about anyone to that position.”

 

“Quite possibly. One of these days, he’ll hire a vampire! Or a Death Eater! Or something else that will kill all those poor kids.... Really, they’re lucky he hasn’t already. After all, he  _ did _ already hire a werewolf....”

 

“I completely agree. I can only think of how unsafe it is to put those innocent children in such a situation,” Lucius said, and Draco could practically hear the lie  _ dripping  _ off of his father’s voice. There was no way that man cared about the children at school; all he cared about was his precious pureblood ways being pushed and stretched by an accepting school like Hogwarts.

 

“I think that man should stick with hiring wizards. That would be the safest thing to do, but that’s probably not what he’s most concerned about. I’m sure that he’s probably got more staff who aren’t completely human.”

 

“I think you are absolutely correct,” said Lucius silkily. “Half-humans should not be allowed to learn magic—let alone teach.”

 

“Father,” Draco interrupted. He just couldn’t refrain from saying something. “Don’t you think that’s a little h—”

 

“Draco,” Lucius said in a warning tone. “Not now.”

 

_ Not ever _ , thought Draco. His father didn’t ever want to talk about that. He just pretended as though it wasn’t real, wasn’t true. Like it didn’t matter. Like these things would just go away if they were ignored for long enough.

 

“Anyway,” Fudge continued, not seeming to notice the hostile look Draco was giving his father, “I probably shouldn’t have brought that all up. How’s work been lately, Lucius?”

 

And with that, Lucius and Fudge delved into a long conversation that Draco immediately decided to check out of, which generally proved to be much easier than having to keep his mouth shut about all of his father’s lies and horrible political views.

  
  


Draco and his parents walked into their tent for what was the first—and probably only—time.

 

Lucius turned to Draco, who realized what was coming a split second before it happened.

 

“I have told you never to mention that!” the man shrieked.

 

“Yes, well, you were being quite a bit of a hypocrite.” Draco held his ground, although he realized belatedly the smarter thing to do would probably be to have simply agreed with his father.

 

Lucius slapped Draco across the face.

 

“Do not go talking back to me,” he growled. He then straightened himself out, cleared his throat, and continued, “Now ready yourself and be in a decent condition by the time we must be making our way to the stadium.”

 

Draco said nothing, but gave a curt nodded. He wondered why his father had agreed to come to this. It wasn’t as if any of them truly enjoyed sports. Draco’s mother flatout hated sports, Draco had only played Quidditch at school for appearances, and if his father ever said that he enjoyed a single game he’d ever watched, Draco was pretty sure he’d drop dead of shock.

 

Draco decided it was probably pointless to question his father’s logic, and walked into his room and laid down in the dark. He still had a good two hours before the game; he’d get himself ready later. He closed his eyes and felt the start of a headache coming on.

 

_ Not now, _ he thought, annoyed. He hoped it wasn’t one of  _ those _ ones…

 

He closed his eyes and let his mind go blank, willing it not to happen.

 

Perhaps it wasn’t going to—

 

_ Black skies. Fire. Screaming. _

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tune it out.

 

_ Chanting. Someone screaming again. _

 

_ Stop. I don’t want to see this. _

 

His whole body was aching. His head was hurting worse again. He squeezed his hands into fists.

 

_ Flashes of light, more screaming, and a glimpse of a skull… the Dark Mark _ .

 

His eyes flew open, and the vision was over. His body was shaking; he felt like he was on fire. But it would pass. It always did.

 

But that vision… When was that going to happen? Was that supposed to be tonight? He hadn’t been able to see enough to get a good idea. Should he bring it up to his father? No… he never liked hearing about that sort of thing. At the same time, the whole situation looked pretty bad. Perhaps he should mention it.

 

Draco bit his lip, contemplating the risk. He didn’t know exactly when it would happen, so perhaps he could wait until he got back to Hogwarts and discuss it with Professor Snape. Yes, that would be the best idea.

 

He’d been having visions about the Dark Mark for about a week now, which was worrying him. It would not only spell almost certain ruin for his family, but for so many others as well. It meant that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might—could— _ would _ —come back… and soon, too.

 

He tended to have visions only once every few weeks, but he’d been having small ones for several days in a row now. He hated seeing visions like these though. They were so important, which left him with such a burden, knowing these things. He didn’t mind the useless ones—like the one about the cat sitting in the front lawn he’d had last summer—but the big ones were just stressful. He had to be so careful about talking to people about them; if someone knew too much about their own future, the results could be disastrous.

 

It was almost worse, though, the ones about people he didn’t know in places he didn’t recognize so he couldn’t help than the ones he had to keep to himself for fear of making something twice as horrid happen.

 

He felt his headache beginning to lessen, so he decided that the worst had probably passed and got up, checking the clock on the wall, which he could just make out in the dark. He was surprised to see that an hour had already gone by, but he did tend to lose time when he had a vision during the day.

 

He walked into the bathroom and combed his hair, putting a little more gel in. He grimaced at the bruise blooming on his cheek. Maybe his mother had some makeup supplies to fix that…

 

Seeming to have read his mind, Narcissa knocked on the door.

 

“Draco? Are you in there?”

 

“Yes,” he replied and opened the door to face her.

 

She brushed a finger over his cheek, grimacing. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She pulled a bottle of a creamy white liquid out of her purse and handed it to him. “This’ll help.”

 

“With the pain or the bruising?”

 

“With both.” Narcissa patted her son on the shoulder. “Your father has gone out, but he should be back in a short while. You should probably be ready to leave by the time he returns.”

 

Draco nodded and walked back into the bathroom. He leaned into the mirror and squeezed out some of the cream, rubbing some on his cheek. It perfectly covered up the purple and green, making his face look flawless and smooth again. It had a nice cooling effect too.

 

Moments later, he walked out to find his father standing there.

 

“Are you ready to go, Draco?” he asked. Draco silently nodded. “Very well. When the game has concluded, your mother and I are going to go out with some… er…  _ friends  _ of ours. You are to wait here for two hours and then go to the forest. Understand? Do not return until I come to get you.”

 

Draco paused. “Why? Is something happening?” Did this have something to do with what he’d seen? No, his father wouldn’t want to participate in something like that with so many Ministry officials around, not after working so hard to get out of the accusations against him… right?

 

“That is none of your concern. You will see later.”

 

Draco took the tone in his father’s voice as a warning not to press the issue anymore, so he just nodded and stepped out of the tent to follow his parents to the stadium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the first chapter for you! I hope you liked it!


	2. Death Eaters and the Dark Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter takes place during chapter eight of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (“The Quidditch World Cup") and chapter nine (“The Dark Mark”).
> 
> Also, I’m pretty sure that Snape’s not actually Draco’s godfather (could someone check on that for me please?), but regardless, for this story, he will be.
> 
> Finally, a disclaimer: Part of the Lucius/Fudge conversation is very similar to what it was in the book.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: Draco expresses mild anorexic and depressive thoughts.
> 
> Disclaimer: Paragraph three is very similar to what Fudge says in the books during chapter eight of HPGoF.

 

As the Malfoys walked up the long stairs to their seats near the top by the Minister, Draco realized slowly that they’d be sitting near Harry Potter and the Weasleys, much to his displeasure. He didn’t have to spend the whole night thinking about… _him_. Then again, it might warrant a good distraction from the rest of the evening. Quidditch was definitely boring, and thinking about Potter was not.

 

_Stop it. You’ve got no chance, so you shouldn’t even be thinking that! Just try and pay attention to the game._

 

Draco was jerked out of his internal argument by his father’s obnoxious attempt to pretend as though he actually wanted to be there.

 

“Good evening, Cornelius,” Lucius drawled, doing his best at giving the man a pleasant smile. Draco thought his father could do to work on his acting skills a good deal.

 

“Hello, Lucius, Narcissa. Of course, Draco. Good to see you here, good to see you here. Have you had a pleasant afternoon?” Lucius just nodded. Draco glanced at the man standing next to Fudge, and the Minister seemed to remember that he was there. “Oh, and why don’t I introduce you to Oblansk—Oblonsk—O—well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and I can’t say his name, but he doesn’t speak any English, so never mind with the introductions. Now, have you met Arthur Weasley?”

 

Draco bit his lip. This wasn’t likely to go well.

 

His eyes flitted away from them and landed on… _Harry_.

 

Damn.

 

Potter looked way too skinny. _One could probably say the same about me,_ Draco thought. He tended to stop eating a whole lot over summer break since meals meant spending time around his parents. And, to be honest, Draco had been feeling a little depressed recently, and not eating made him feel better when that happened.

 

His mother put a hand on his shoulder and directed him to his seat while Lucius snapped a few short words at Mr. Weasley.

 

Draco sat down and listened as the Minister and his father exchanged a few words, and then settled his eyes on the field in front of him. He didn’t care about Quidditch. Not even a little bit. It was mostly his father who enjoyed watching it, but sometimes Draco got the feeling that even Lucius didn’t really find the sport entertaining.

 

As Ludo Bagman began to welcome everyone to the Quidditch World Cup, Draco let his eyes rest on the back of Potter’s head. To be honest, he’d had a massive crush on the boy since the first time they’d met, but it wasn’t like he could say that—ever. His father would probably disown him at best. Draco didn’t want to think about what the worst case scenario would be though.

 

Draco saw the Bulgarian mascots coming out onto the field—veela. Music started to play and the veela began to dance. They did nothing for him, but he watched as Potter and Weasley stood up, looking like perhaps they were about ready to jump from the stands. He saw Granger shift in her seat a little bit too, looking away.

 

_Interesting. So perhaps Granger swings that way. But Potter… never mind. I’ve got no chance. I should know that by now._

 

Draco glanced at his father, who had closed his eyes. Narcissa, on the other hand, was watching Draco with an odd expression on her face.

 

As the veela left the field, Draco shifted in his seat a bit. He didn’t really want to watch the game. He could think of so many better ways to be spending an evening such as this.

 

The Irish team introduced their mascots and then Bagman began naming the various players of the team as they flew into the air, while Draco suppressed the urge to let out a loud groan. He was going to spend the next few hours in immense boredom, and he knew it.

  


In the end, Draco spent most of the game watching Potter and his friends. They all seemed so happy together… it was really rather saddening. It made his insides twist into painful, jealous knots. And yet he couldn’t look away. There was something oddly fascinating about them that made Draco wondered if he would ever have friends like that, and if he did, would it mean he might actually be able to like himself? That was extremely doubtful, he supposed. They were happy together because they were trusting, kind, and were willing to make an effort. Draco, on the other hand, was not any of those things. They liked themselves because they _were_ likable, and he was not.

 

As he and his family got up to leave the stands, Draco wondered what the coming school year would be like. He always liked school better than home, but not by much. Just because he didn’t have a disapproving father right there breathing down his neck didn’t mean that he didn’t have to be careful about what he said and did. The only person who really knew what he was truly like on the inside was his godfather, Professor Snape. He hadn’t actually told Snape that he was gay, but he got the feeling that the professor already knew. Snape had also been a great help with the visions, unlike his real father.

 

Draco saw the tent approaching and remembered what his father had said earlier. He knew that whatever Lucius was going to do with his “friends” wasn’t going to end well. But how could he convince the prick of that?

 

Lucius grabbed Draco by the back of the collar and hissed, “Walk faster. You present yourself like ungrateful swine.”

 

Draco grimaced but didn’t object. Never mind. Perhaps his father deserved something to go wrong for once.

 

His mother, in a weak attempt to make the mood a little lighter, broke in between the two of them and said, “So, what did you think of the game, Draco? I thought it was interesting.” He could tell by her tone and poor description that she really hadn’t thought so, and had probably spent much of the game staring blankly at the field as he had.

 

“I thought it was splendid,” Draco agreed half-heartedly, his response mimicking Narcissa’s.

 

“Well, here’s the tent,” Narcissa continued. “Your father and I are just going to change into different robes and then we’ll be gone. Remember, wait here for two hours and then leave. Alright?”

 

Draco murmured an automatic, “Yes,” knowing that there wasn’t really much else he could do but agree. He hoped that whatever they were doing didn’t have to do with what they’d seen; those screams he’d heard had turned his stomach, and he didn’t want to have to sit there and pretend like he accepted what they were doing.

 

He walked straight to his room and picked up a book, pretending to read, but instead listened to his parents whisper in another room.

 

“Lucius, do you really think this is wise?” Narcissa asked.

 

“No, but it will only last an hour, perhaps slightly more. I promise you—we will not get caught.”

 

“You know getting caught wasn’t what I was talking about,” Narcissa sighed.

 

Half an hour later, the two of them walked out, not saying so much as a simple “goodbye” to Draco. He didn’t mind, though. The less they said to him, the better.

 

Draco let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He hoped they didn’t get into too much trouble. He might not like his parents much, but he did still want them to be safe.

 

He laid in bed for a while, wondering what was going to happen, until he started to hear yelling outside.

 

“Shit.” Draco hopped up and checked the clock. It had been a _little_ more time than his father had told him to wait for… by about an hour.

 

He grabbed his coat and raced out the door. He flew across the open field, and noted he was not the only one—others were fleeing as well. In the distance, he heard ominous chanting and painful shrieks of terror that pierced the air like newly sharpened daggers.

 

Draco wondered if he should perhaps attempt to help the people that his father and the others were inevitably targeting… no, that might make things worse. He wouldn’t know what he was doing, and it wasn’t as if his father would ever let that go. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how angry his father would be if Draco interfered with something that was inevitably carefully planned out, despite how chaotic it seemed.

 

And so, guilt heavy in his heart, he made it to the forest, out of breath and standing on burning legs.

 

He peered around a tree, trying to get a good look at what was happening. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth together. He was pissed at his father. Lucius had been trying so hard for so long to not get caught, and then he went off and did _this_ . And sure, he was usually pretty bad when speaking about Muggle-borns and Muggles in general, but once again: _this_. On his way running here, he’d seen several of the Muggle officers that had been at the gates on the ground. And he knew his father—that man would never attack a pureblood wizard. There was no way that group was just doing this to get a riot out of people. They were doing this with the sole purpose of hurting people with non-magical blood.

 

From behind him, he heard a loud thud, causing him to jump slightly. Draco turned around slowly, as silently as he could, but the voices he heard caused him to relax a little.

 

“What just happened? Ron, Harry, are you alright?” came the distinct sound of Hermione Granger’s voice.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Potter’s voice rang out.

 

“Hang on, I tripped over a tree root,” Weasley grunted, clearly frustrated.

 

“Oh, alright,” Granger said. “Perhaps we should just wait here—”

 

Draco, knowing they wouldn’t be safe enough staying in this relatively open part of the forest, interrupted, “Yeah, no wonder. Your feet are the size of an elephant’s.” He needed to get them away from here, and then he could get moving. He’d be safe a little longer. If they caught him, they’d probably let him go. But Granger, Weasley, and Potter…

 

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Weasley snorted.

 

Draco raised his eyebrows as he heard Potter and Granger both let out snorts of surprise. “Tsk, tsk. Language, Weasel. Now, you should probably be running along shouldn’t you?” If those wizards got to where they were, he’d be spared, but they wouldn’t be. “You wouldn’t want Granger to be found, now would you? I’d hate to see what they would do to a filthy Mudblood like her.” He suppressed a cringe. He hated saying it, but they really would be caught if they didn’t get a move on.

 

“What do you mean?” Granger snapped.

 

“You see who they’re going after. Muggles. And to them, a Mudblood is no different.”

 

“Watch your mouth, Malfoy,” Weasley snarled.

 

Draco shrugged. “I’m being honest.”

 

“Oh, really, like you care,” Weasley snapped. “I mean, honestly, your father’s probably one of them!”

 

Draco just shrugged again. “And if he is? Your father is probably one of the ones racing around foolishly trying to play hero! At least my father knows how to pick the battles he can win.”

 

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Weasley growled, stepping closer.

 

“Ron,” Granger groaned. “He isn’t worth it! Let’s get going! Seriously!”

 

Finally taking the hint, Weasley grumbled along after Granger and Potter. At least they would have a shot at being safe.

 

Draco listened to their footsteps as they ran away. When he felt that they were far enough, he turned and moved deeper into the forest.

 

When he reached a quiet spot, he curled up underneath of a tree. It was cold and damp.

 

He rested his head against his knees letting out a groan. How could his parents think that this was a good idea? Getting involved in something like this again? And they were probably with a bunch of former Death Eaters too, to make matters worse.

 

Draco sat there in the cold and dark for what felt like hours, and very easily could have been.

 

When his back started to cramp up, he decided it was probably safe to stand. He leaned his head back and looked up at the sky, just in time to see it flash green. He shuddered slightly as he saw what now lay with the stars—a solid 500 feet from him the Dark Mark now scarred the sky.

 

He hoped that neither of his parents was near there. If they were…

 

In the distance, he heard the commotion beginning to calm down.

 

He took a deep breath. He couldn’t believe that _this_ was what his father had been planning to do. But the Dark Mark… no, that couldn’t have been part of it. Draco knew his father would be terrified by that. And to be honest, so was he.

 

That mark blazing across the sky did not mean good things for anyone, no matter where they stood with the Dark Lord. It spelled almost certain ruin for the wizarding world, especially if that was just the start.

 


	3. When Summer Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think so far? Let me know in the comments below!

 

When Draco finally got back to the tent, his parents were already there.

 

“Oh thank Merlin,” Narcissa cried. “We were so worried when you weren’t here when we got back. We thought that maybe the Ministry had you!”

 

_ Likely, _ thought Draco.  _ I bet that Father wasn’t worried even the slightest bit _ . “Yes, well you wouldn’t have had to worry if you had never gone out with a bunch of your Death Eater friends to go relive old times or some shit in the first place!” Draco felt his usually carefully calculated words and tone slipping away. “Honestly, what did you think you were playing at? I know how hard you fought to stay out of Azkaban, and yet you then go out and do this? And the Dark Mark, too! Was that part of the plan as well, huh?”

 

“Draco,” snapped Lucius. “I do not want you questioning our behavior like that. We know what is best and can think for ourselves. But no, the Dark Mark was not part of the plan.” Lucius did not look happy.

 

“I can’t believe someone decided to set that off,” Narcissa sighed, pinching her nose. “What do you suppose it means? That he is gaining strength again, or that someone just went a step too far?”

 

“I don’t know,” Lucius whispered, sounding genuinely scared. “I don’t know. The Dark Mark is starting to show up again, though. You don’t think…?”

 

“I’m just as in the dark as you are, Lucius,” Narcissa shook her head. “But this could be bad.”

 

Draco bit his lip, not quite knowing what to say.

 

“Draco,” Narcissa said after a moment, “why don’t you go to bed? We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

Draco said nothing, but headed straight to his room, a mixture of anger and fear flowing through his body. He knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep that night.

  
  


Draco Malfoy flopped onto his bed with a groan. They had just gotten back to the manor, and his mother and father were already fighting. But of course they were. Why  _ wouldn’t _ they be?

 

He hated his life. He hated school because it meant he had to play Quidditch, to pretend to be straight, to be someone he wasn’t. He hated home because it meant that he had to pretend to be straight, to be someone he wasn’t. Plus, since he hated sports and his father wouldn’t let him do most crafts, he generally didn’t have much to do at home, so his days tended to be long and boring. At least at school he had homework and books to distract him from everything.

 

He was just done with it all. He didn’t see the point anymore. Where was the purpose of life when it only consisted of homework and obnoxious assholes hovering about him?

 

_ I need to stop sulking, _ he thought bitterly. _ I have so much more than most children can ever dream of having. _

 

He glanced around his room. It was mostly empty, especially in these days right before he went back to school when everything was packed.

 

Against one wall was a massive four poster bed with black, barely see-through curtains draped around it. The walls had been painted a deep green, and the trim had snakes carved into it. Not that he’d ever wanted any of that; this room was older than the headmaster of Hogwarts was, and the layout of it hadn’t been changed in more than a century. Things had, of course, been replaced (eventually), but according to legend, it had been these same colors since the dawn of the dinosaurs.

 

In one corner was a desk that was piled high with assignments that he never wanted to see again, and in another corner was a suitcase.

 

There was a bookshelf standing adjacent to a closet filled half with books that his father wanted him to read and half with books that he had obtained elsewhere and actually enjoyed.

 

He would be going back to school in just under two weeks, and he was very ready to be rid of this godforsaken room.

 

“Dinner, Draco,” called Narcissa.

 

He sighed, getting up again. All he wanted was a few moments of peace and quiet. Was that too much to ask for?

 

Draco walked downstairs and sat down at the table, food heaped in front of him. His parents were already sitting.

 

“Draco,” Narcissa began, “we need to talk about school. You are just about to go back, and after all of this has happened… well, we need you to give off the right impression.”

 

“I know,” Draco grumbled.

 

“And there are also some other things at Hogwarts going on this year we should probably let you know about,” Narcissa added. “But we’ll start with appearance. To begin with, you need to seem relaxed, like you’re okay with what’s happening. Since we didn’t help try to find the Dark Lord, we can’t let on that we’re upset about all of this. If we do, he’ll be even more upset with us. We must all act like this is fine, understand?” Draco gave a quick nod. “Lovely. Also, you can’t act too happy about it, because you don’t want to seem like you’re  _ trying _ to project that you think it’s good. Understand?” Draco nodded again. She had no idea how long he’d been doing this. “Lovely. You need to remain calm through all of this. Understand?” Draco rolled his eyes. She seemed to take this as another yes, and continued with a slightly more clipped, “Lovely.”

 

“Now that that is out of the way,” Lucius cut in, “do you know what the Triwizard Tournament is, Draco?”

 

“Yes,” Draco responded, “I read about it in—”

 

“I don’t care where you read it,” Lucius said. “What matters is that it will be happening at Hogwarts this year.”

 

“You’re shitting me,” Draco said, flabbergasted. Did his parents plan on making him compete in it? Because he was not down for that. Did they realize how many people had died doing that?

 

“No, Draco,” Lucius grimaced stiffly. “I am not ‘shitting you.’ I am being completely honest. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will be joining Hogwarts for the competition. Unfortunately, they have changed some rules so you will not be able to compete. No one under the age of 17 will. And please, do not use such distasteful language in my household.”

 

Draco almost died of relief. He wasn’t sure what he would have done. Sure, he was good in his classes and all, but there had been some seriously sketchy tasks in the past. In the early 1700s, one champion died after consuming 300 fireworms in ten minutes. He didn’t think that sounded like a good way to go.

 

“So why are you telling me, if I can’t compete?” Draco asked.

 

“Because all of the Ministry children should know, and I don’t want you to have any less knowledge than any of them.”

 

“Great,” Draco muttered.

 

“There is also a dance scheduled to take place on Christmas,” Lucius continued over his son. “I have not acquired all of the details, so we will have to discuss it further at such a date as I do, but please—go with a decent date. A pureblood your age is preferable, and make sure her family has money. You don’t want to send the wrong message.”

 

Draco was about done with his father’s whole ‘sending the wrong message’ schtick. It was beginning to get on his nerves.

 

“Wonderful. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind when I put up a sign-up sheet in the Common Room and do an extensive background check on all of them,” Draco said under his breath.

 

“This isn’t a joke, Draco,” Narcissa said in a tight tone. “You are our child, so what you do will reflect how we’ve parented you. If you are seen in the wrong company, it could severely tarnish our entire family’s reputation!”

 

“Yeah,” Draco grumbled, “I’ve heard that before.”

 


	4. Chapter Four: September Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: One of the conversations in this story was based off of one in the chapter "Aboard the Hogwarts Express."

 

Draco’s eyes fluttered open on the morning of September first, and he had the fleeting realization that in just a few short hours, he’d be back at Hogwarts. He’d have freedom again—or at least as close to it as he could get in a life like his. He glanced around his room, and, upon deciding there was nothing left he needed to pack, began to haul his suitcase downstairs.

 

He paused when he heard his father shouting.  _ Better not get involved in that, _ Draco thought to himself. He turned back around and headed back in his room. He’d go downstairs when they were done fighting.

 

Narcissa and Lucius argued constantly, and Draco hated it. They couldn’t even pretend to get along most of the time. It was one of many reasons he never wanted to get married.

 

He held his breath, trying to hear what had gotten his parents all bent out of shape, but it was useless. They were two floors down, and there was too much to muffle the sounds in between the everything.

 

He thought that perhaps he could go down and try to help but immediately recycled that idea—whenever he tried to intervene, their hostility turned to him.

 

Draco plopped down on his bed instead and listened to the yells from the first floor. He wondered if they had ever loved each other, or if their marriage had been arranged by his grandparents. He never asked that sort of thing, mainly because his parents acted as though it were a sin to question things.

 

He heard silence from below him and contemplated heading back down—at least until his father started to shout again.

 

_ Never mind, _ he thought.

  
  


Kings Cross Station.

 

Lucius always hated it—Muggles—but Draco liked it. The hustle and bustle of everything, the way everyone just seemed so intent on getting wherever they were heading, and how all the families seemed to get along just fine. It was as if they didn’t have any problems at all.

 

Before the brick barrier, Lucius turned to his son and said, “Well, I am afraid this is where we leave you Draco. Narcissa and I have places to be.”

 

Draco just nodded, knowing there would be nothing else except that from his father.

 

“We’ll see you at the end of the school year. I promise to write to you,” Narcissa smiled.

 

_ Great. Just what I need. A constant reminder of how much of a disappointment I am from you. _

 

“Okay,” was all Draco said before he turned around and walked through the barrier. He didn’t look back once.

 

He emerged in Platform 9 ¾. A smile was brought to his face for the first time in ages. This was the only moment all year that he got a moment to himself, a moment to take it all in.

 

As he surveyed the platform, his eyes fell on the Weasleys, Potter, and Granger. They all looked so happy together. A pang filled the hole inside his chest.

 

He took a deep breath and kept moving.

 

It felt like forever before he finally reached the train, despite the fact that he wasn’t looking forward to being inside. He didn’t really look forward to a lot of things though, it seemed.

 

He shuffled inside, lost in his head, and plopped down in an empty compartment, letting out a heavy sigh. Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, and Blaise Zabini were all right behind him.

 

Pansy planted herself firmly next to Draco, much to his distress. Gregory, Theo, and Blaise sat down around him, chatting happily to each other. Or rather, Theo and Blaise were talking and Greg was nodding along. Draco doubted his vocabulary was large enough to actually follow what they were saying.

 

Suddenly, Vincent Crabbe bolted in, out of breath. Almost immediately afterward, the train started to move.

 

“A little late, are we?” Draco asked smoothly. “Did you forget when the train leaves again?”

 

“Yeah,” Vincent said thickly. “My mum dropped me off here a while ago, but I sort of forgot.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Excellent.”

 

He turned his head to the window, and stopped listening to the conversation from there, staring out into the rainy world.

 

The downpour drowned out the other Slytherins’ voices, which he was glad for. He closed his eyes lightly, and even started to drift off for a bit… at least until Pansy started poking him.

 

“Draco,” she snapped. “Are you listening to me?”

 

“Absolutely,” he said sarcastically.

 

“I  _ said _ , do you know what’s going on at Hogwarts this year?”

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Well, we don’t, so why don’t you tell us?”

 

“My father told me that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are coming to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament.”

 

“No way!” Theo exclaimed. “Awesome!”

 

“But we won’t be able to compete,” Draco added.

 

“Why not?” Blaise grumbled.

 

“Only people older than 17 can. It’s a new rule this year.”

 

“That sucks,” Theo grumbled. “Oh well. My parents wanted to send me to Durmstrang, actually.”

 

“Mine too,” Draco said. “I think I would have liked it there, to be honest, but my mother felt that it was way too far away.” He glanced back outside. It was raining harder now.

 

“I don’t think Durmstrang sounds all that great,” Blaise cut in.

 

“Oh, you just don’t like the cold,” Theo snorted.

 

“Okay, okay, that’s true. If it weren’t so cold, I think I would like it there.”

 

“And, to be fair,” Theo added, “You don’t actually know for sure if it’s cold or not.”

 

“True, true,” Blaise agreed.

 

Draco closed his eyes again and listened to the rain. He wished those fools would just shut up. Their voices annoyed him. Hell,  _ they _ annoyed him.

  
  


“Draco,” Theo said. Draco didn’t respond. “ _ Draco, _ ” he repeated.

 

“What?” Draco asked, sitting up, slightly ticked off. He glanced outside. Had he fallen asleep? How long had passed?

 

“It’s lunch.” That answered his question. “Also, there are some pesky Gryffindors over there. You, Vince, and Greg should go bother them.”

 

The other Slytherins all smiled encouragingly, clearly wanting to see the Gryffindors get put down.

 

Draco glanced over and saw a few Gryffindors entering the compartment next to his. One of the ones already there was Potter.

 

Should he? It was probably best not to argue, as that wouldn’t seem like the petulant jackass his fellow Slytherins had grown to know and love.

 

“Sure,” he said. “Get up, you lumps,” he commanded.

 

He opened the door and walked over, folding his arms.

 

Weasley was saying something about being up in the top box. They must be talking about the Quidditch World Cup.

 

“Hello,” he said in the most arrogant tone he could manage. “Look at what we have here,” he smirked. “And by the way, you’re never going to be in the top box again Weasley, so why don’t you savor the memory.”

 

“Oh screw off, Malfoy,” Weasley grumbled.

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we didn’t invite you in here,” Potter chimed in.

 

Draco refrained from saying that was the point.

 

“Really now? Interesting.” His eyes landed on something hanging from Weasley’s trunk. “What  _ is  _ that? Is this what you were planning on wearing to the dance? I mean, I’m sure they would fit right in with everyone else’s in the late nineteenth century…”

 

“What dance?” Ron asked.

 

“Oh, you don’t know?” Draco asked incredulously. “I thought your father would tell you. But of course, they probably wouldn’t trust him with something like that.” Draco continued by saying that his father had told him weeks ago and had heard about it from the Minister.

 

“You know what?” Potter stood up. “Why don’t you just leave Ron’s father out of this. You and I both know that yours is just a suck up.”

 

Draco glared at Potter. “That is not true. My father just knows where to make friends and where to make enemies. Unlike yours, who went and practically begged to leave you as an orphan, and Weasley’s over there who clearly doesn’t even know the first thing about what’s going on in the Ministry. But really, is it such a surprise? Both of your fathers are Moodblood lovers… or I suppose  _ was _ is a more appropriate term for yours, Potter—”

 

Weasley stood up, pulling out his wand. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

 

“And what are you going to do about it, Weasley?” Draco knew he was pushing the limit. He should probably leave. “We all know you don’t have what it takes to back up most any threat you make.”

 

With that, he turned on his heel and walked back to his compartment. Vince and Greg had the good sense to follow him.

 

Draco sat back down and looked out the window again as Pansy rested her head against his shoulder. He absentmindedly pushed her off, before realizing that he couldn't do that. “Sorry,” he muttered, before resting his own head against the window.

 


	5. Three Futures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during chapter twelve of the book.

The train slowly began to pull to a halt, and everyone began to get up, rustling around to try to find everything that they’d brought on with them.

 

Draco stretched his stiff limbs, rubbing his eyes. He’d been asleep for much of the final portion of the ride.

 

They all walked out of the train, and Draco realized just how heavily it was raining now. He was certainly glad that he did not have to sail across the lake in this river. He hopped onto the platform and the horseless carriages began to arrive.

 

He clambered into one with Pansy, Theo, Vince, Greg, and Blaise.

 

It sometimes felt like he was the only one of them with a brain of his own, which was a fairly isolating thing. He wondered if any of them ever had a feeling like that—completely alone in a room full of clowns that would never think for themselves. And, if so, were they struggling to keep their true selves buried underneath of a facade of lies and falsehoods because that was less painful than telling the truth?

 

His silent thoughts were interrupted by Pansy’s exclamation of, “You know, you could do to look a little less depressed and join in the conversation. Merlin, you can be obnoxiously oblivious sometimes.”

 

He marked her off the list of the possible people that weren’t mindless idiots.

 

But he did pay attention to what they were saying after that—or at least, he pretended to, though their words fell on deaf ears, which often days had proved itself to be a problem for Draco. Luckily, today it did not, which he sent up a silent prayer of thanks for. He was glad his fellow Slytherins didn’t care enough at that moment in time to notice that he wasn’t paying attention.

 

Instead of listening to his “friends”, Draco found himself taking in the pleasant sound of the rain pounding against the hard ground, and thought to himself what it would be like to fall that far, to come crashing back to earth in a thunderous rage because that was all you could do.

 

As Draco and the other Slytherins entered the castle, soaked thanks to a shenanigan of Blaise’s (obviously), they saw McGonagall shrieking at Peeves, and decided to make their way silently around the scene and not cause more of a mess—she did not appear to be in the most splendid mood.

 

The lot of them entered the Great Hall, observing their surroundings slowly, as though it was their first time seeing it all over again. Draco doubted the others would ever know what this place meant to him, though. They couldn’t—because they still truly believed that everything they were saying was justified, that their parents were correct in their pure-blood-elitist ways. But for him, this place was the symbol of hope for a better future and hope that people could change, even if it had spat him out countless times and left him to rot.

 

Draco sat cautiously at the Slytherin table for the first time that year, abandoning his previous train of thought, and he noticed the very early signs of a headache coming on—a slight pressure in the front of his head. He prayed he wouldn’t have a vision, but he was due for one—he hadn’t seen anything since the Quidditch World Cup.

 

He felt his anxiety mounting, which never helped with the intensity of the visions. He could  _ not _ have a vision in the middle of the Great Hall. He prayed that Dumbledore would hurry up so he could get back to his dorm.

 

He chewed nervously on his lip as the doors were flung open and a crowd of bedraggled first years began to make their way up the hall to where McGonagall had just placed a four-legged stool and the Sorting Hat, which then broke into song. He released his lip from his teeth, reminding himself that he couldn’t show signs of discomfort, or else face the hyenas he called “friends.”

 

_ Hurry up, _ he thought again. His headache was getting worse.

 

One by one, the new students sat on the stool and were placed in one of the four houses. At last, Dumbledore stood and opened his mouth. Draco readied himself for a long speech—with his luck, it would last a whole ten minutes.

 

Luckily, he kept it brief—“Tuck in!”—but by that point, Draco no longer felt hungry. His headache was now bad enough that he didn’t feel like he  _ could  _ eat.

 

Instead, he just pushed his food around his plate and listened half-heartedly to the others talk about various things, until Dumbledore stood to speak again. He listed a few new banned items—none of which Draco particularly cared for to begin with—and he was contemplating tuning it all out. At least, until Dumbledore said there would be no Inter-House Quidditch Cup this year.

 

Draco was pleased by that—one less thing he’d be forced into doing. Then again, that also meant more time that he’d have to spend around the other Slytherins… maybe no Quidditch wasn’t so good after all.

 

As Draco was pondering this, the door was flung open by none other than Mad-Eye Moody, which surprised everyone but Draco, who had already known he would be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

 

But… something felt off about him, and Draco couldn’t quite place it. He just didn’t feel…  _ right _ , somehow.

 

Draco dismissed this notion immediately, however. It was probably just the anxiety over his headache and the imminent vision it foretold talking.

 

Speaking of which, the pounding in his head was getting progressively worse as the evening continued.

 

Dumbledore calmly introduced Moody as the new DADA teacher (which confirmed that he probably shouldn’t be fretting—the man was almost never wrong) and then began to inform the students about the Triwizard Tournament.

 

Draco, ignoring what the headmaster was saying on that topic, took a deep breath in a feeble attempt to calm himself. He was going to have a vision right here in front of everyone, and there was nothing he could do about it…

 

_ Come on, calm down, worrying is just going to make it worse _ .

 

His eyes fell on Potter across the hall, who was busily chatting with his friends, presumably about the news that had just dropped.

 

It was oddly calming to watch someone so innocently happy like Potter. He always seemed happy—as if he truly enjoyed life. Something that Draco often didn’t feel like he himself had any reason to do.

 

“Hey, Draco,” Pansy began, snapping him out of his mind.

 

“Shush,” Blaise snapped. “Can’t you see that he doesn’t want to talk right now?”

 

That was one of the nice things about the Blaise. He wouldn’t push a subject if you were clearly uncomfortable with it and would leave you alone when you wanted to be. And generally speaking, the others would listen to him.

 

It sometimes was a little strange, Blaise’s uncanny ability to tell how everyone felt, and sometimes Draco felt as though such a trait may have fit in better with Hufflepuff, but the boy seemed happy in Slytherin, so who was Draco to judge?

 

Draco nodded toward Blaise. “Thanks.”

  
  


Ron was only half listening to Fred and George as the two of them talked about the various ways that they thought Dumbledore might try to choose the Champions. Instead, he was watching the Slytherin table. Not something he usually did, but he’d glanced over a few minutes ago only to see the one and only Draco Malfoy staring right back, which had captured his interest.

 

Or at least, he was staring at Ron’s  _ table _ . And it seemed like Malfoy was specifically watching  _ Harry _ of all people.

 

_ I wonder what that could be about _ . Malfoy was probably plotting something… Well, whatever it was, Harry, Hermione, and he usually came out on top.

 

But there was something different in Malfoy’s gaze. Something like longing, or sadness, rather than his usually steely, snide expression.

 

“Hey, Ron.” Harry poked him. “You’ve been zoning out for about five minutes now. What’s on your mind?”

 

“It’s so unfair we aren’t allowed to enter,” Ron grumbled, forgetting about Malfoy for the time being. “But just imagine if we could…”

  
  


Dinner ended, and Draco left the Slytherin table as fast as humanly possible.

 

He dashed up the stairs and made it to the Slytherin Common Room well before anyone else did. By the time he reached his dormitory, he was barely able to stand.

 

He collapsed onto his bed, still fully dressed, and allowed the real world to fall away and a hypothetical one to take over.

 

_ A large goblet. Two names—Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory. _

 

_ Cheering. Everyone happy for the former. _

 

_ A graveyard. _

 

_ Potter—the only one there. _

 

_ Dead. _

 

_ Voldemort—risen. _

 

_ Severus Snape—alive. _

 

_ The wizarding world—crumbling. _

 

_ A war well fought—lost. _

 

Then the scene shifted. A different option.

 

_ A large goblet. One name—Cedric Diggory. _

 

_ Diggory standing alone. _

 

_ Dead. _

 

_ Voldemort—risen. _

 

_ Severus Snape—dead. _

 

_ Harry—alive. _

 

_ A war well fought—won. _

 

A third shift. A final option.

 

_ A large goblet. Two names—Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory. _

 

_ Jeering. No one happy with the former. _

 

_ A graveyard—Potter and Diggory the only two there. _

 

_ Cedric—dead. _

 

_ Voldemort—risen. _

 

_ Severus Snape—dead. _

 

_ Potter—alive. _

 

_ The wizarding world—fighting. _

 

_ A war well fought—won, at a great cost. _

 

Draco’s eyes flew open. It was the middle of the night now, and everyone else was already asleep. He had to tell Professor Snape about this. There was no way he could sort this all out on his own. He had no idea how to make whatever was going to happen turn out alright.

 

But what he did know had to be done, at any cost, was that Harry must be kept alive. No matter what.

 


	6. Classes Commence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during chapter thirteen of the actual book, “Mad-Eye Moody.” Also, please leave a review and tell me what you think so far!
> 
> Disclaimer: The scene where Draco is turned into a ferret is not mine. It was in the books; I just reworked it from Draco’s POV so that you could get a feel for the way he might have felt during that.
> 
> Oh, and I'm really sorry for not posting on Saturday! I got really busy and I just didn't get the chance, so here's your chapter now.

 

The following morning, Draco woke up feeling very sluggish. That sometimes happened after more intense visions. He absolutely hated it. First, he got handed the overpowering responsibility of knowing someone else’s future and misfortunes, and then he ended up feeling like he’d run ten miles the previous day as a “reward.”

 

He sat up slowly and got dressed, saying nothing to his roommates as he did so, and walked down to breakfast where he picked at his food. He didn’t really feel like eating much, even though he hadn’t eaten the previous night, either. It was just something about that vision that made him feel uncomfortable. He despised having all that weight thrust upon him—the weight of someone else’s ugly future — and then being expected to make sure that this turned out alright for everyone else. Of course, not all visions were like that; there were plenty of useless ones, but those were pesky as well—it wasn’t as if he’d  _ asked _ for the hours of his day to be eaten up by pointless things like that. He supposed he couldn’t have it both ways, though, so he should stop complaining. Although it was frustrating, being the custodian of other people’s lives.

 

But he didn’t have much choice, he supposed. It was either intervene or forever hold his peace with whatever happened.

 

“You should probably eat more than that,” Blaise whispered, interrupting Draco’s train of thought.

 

Draco shook his head. “I’m not very hungry.”

 

“You didn’t eat last night either.” Blaise was still keeping his voice low, and Draco wondered why.

 

“I do not want to talk about this right now, Blaise,” Draco said carefully.

 

“Fine,” Blaise responded, looking a bit like he wanted to keep arguing about it. Perhaps he was being quiet because he knew Draco didn’t want other people to ask him about it.

 

At that moment, Draco’s eagle owl came soaring down with the rest of the morning post and landed in front of him with a package full of sweets and a letter. Draco decided to open the letter first and get the worst of it out of the way.

 

_ Dear Draco, _

 

_ I do hope that this school year is off to a good start. Your father and I sent you some sweets. I hope you like them. Don’t forget to write to me, and don’t forget to be on good behavior! _

 

_ Narcissa Malfoy _

 

He wrinkled his nose slightly. She disguised her true intentions well—all she was really doing was reminding him of that fact that just because he was at school didn’t mean that he could go off and do whatever he wanted. His insides burned in annoyance. If that was what she wanted, she could go to hell. She was no better than his father, despite the fact that she tried to pretend like it.

 

Draco crumpled the note up, deciding to send a response that evening after his first day of classes were out of the way (seeing as he didn’t really have much of a choice), and rose from his seat, turning to Blaise and saying, “I am going to class. I’ll see you later.”

 

Blaise nodded softly as Draco marched away, appearing to be deep in thought.

 

If any of the Slytherins were capable of thinking for themselves, it would Blaise.

  
  


After Transfiguration first period, Draco headed outside to Care of Magical Creatures. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to this class. He didn’t downright hate it, but he certainly wasn’t the largest fan in the world.

 

Plus, Potter and his friends would be there, so they’d see how this turned out.

 

Draco arrived sooner than most of his fellow Slytherins, but much later than almost all of the Gryffindors.

 

There were crates full of…  _ strange _ creatures, to say the least. He didn’t recognize them from any textbooks and didn’t match any descriptions he remembered reading, which was not something that usually happened. In fact, they actually looked like a cross between fire-crabs and something else. He was fairly certain that was illegal, come to think of it.

 

“Blast-Ended Skrewts!” Hagrid announced as the rest of the class began to arrive. “Ya getta raise ‘em!”

 

_ Oh Merlin, _ Draco thought.  _ Those do  _ not _ look safe. _

 

He tried to disguise his worry and fear about the creatures by making a few snide comments, to which Granger responded with such intensity that he knew she probably only said it to defend Hagrid. After all, who could possibly  _ want _ to raise something like those?

 

But he wasn’t at his highest. He backed off a bit, not because he didn’t have more remarks in store, but because of what he now knew. He had no idea how what he did right now would affect the future, and he had no idea how he should act. He needed to refrain from doing anything until he talked to Professor Snape.

 

So instead, Draco stood at the back of the class observing Potter and his friends. Or, at least, that was what he was doing, until Granger glanced behind her and gave him a funny look, as though she could feel his grey eyes on her friend.

 

Unfortunately, he was not as subtle about this as he had hoped he’d been. On their way back to the palace, Vincent and Gregory split off from Draco to go to whatever their next class was, while Blaise walked with Draco to Ancient Runes.

 

“Hey, man, you okay? You’re acting kind of funny. I mean, the way you just let Granger off like that after she snapped at you? And what was with that look she gave you after class really got going? And you haven’t been eating a lot lately. Are you sure that nothing’s up?”

 

Draco shrugged, mildly amused that Blaise had already jumped to asking him if he was “sure nothing was up” even though Draco hadn’t yet denied anything. “I don’t know. I think I will be fine for now though, Blaise. There’s no need to worry about me.” Although, honestly, Blaise was probably just pretending. That was what most of them did, anyway.

 

“Okay, well, let me know if there’s anything I can do—within reason, of course.”

 

That sounded serious… but he didn’t really mean it, right?

 

Draco gave him a shaky smile, and the two of them fell silent. Perhaps Blaise could be helpful in all of this, but Draco would have to be careful what all he said to the boy who was slowly starting to become the closest thing to a friend he’d ever really had.

  
  


As Draco walked to dinner, Pansy darted up beside him.

 

“Hello, Draco,” she said, smiling cheerfully and wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

 

He raised an eyebrow at her, then frowned. There was only one thing that could get her in such a pleasantly sparky mood.

 

“What did the Daily Prophet print this time?”

 

“Oh, it’s just an article that Rita Skeeter wrote, so I have no idea how much of it is true, but it’s not like that matters much. It mentions Weasel’s dad. I bet you can find a good way to use it.” She grinned, clearly proud of herself, and pressed the paper into Draco’s arms, leaving him standing in the hallway feeling helpless.

  
He flipped through it until he found the article in question, skimming down the page as quickly as he could. It looked like the usual sort of thing; Skeeter making a bigger deal out of minor happenings at the Ministry, but he supposed that he could probably “find a good way to use it,” as Pansy had put it.

 

He thought for a second. He could go bother the Golden Trio and rub this in their faces, which would certainly tussle up Weasley, which would be better for his reputation among the Slytherins, but once again, he didn’t know how that would affect the future. His other option was to not use it and risk the wrath of both Pansy and his father for not taking such an opportunity. Draco bit his lip.

 

Unfortunately, his thought process was interrupted by Vince and Greg.

 

“Whatcha got there, Draco?” Vincent asked, his words slow and low.

 

Greg looked over his shoulder and giggled thuggishly. “It’s about Weasley’s father. This’ll make ‘im upset. What are we going to do, Draco?”

 

“We are going to cause some trouble,” Draco said, smirking wickedly at the same time as mentally groaning. One of these days, those two were going to have to stop hanging around him. They were so bothersome and never did him any good. “Now, follow me.”

 

He walked with an arrogant swagger all the way to the Great Hall, where other students had already lined up for dinner. He did his best to look pleased with himself as he spotted Potter, Granger, and Weasley and called out, “Hey Weasley! Take a look at this!”

 

He began reading the article to the trio, making spiteful commentary along the way. At the end, he threw a few jabs about Weasley’s mum (which, in hindsight, probably took it a bit too far), and that consequently resulted in Potter insulting Draco’s mother.

 

That got him—he might not always enjoy his mother’s company, but she did try so hard to do what was right for him, and he knew that was hard for her, what with how controlling Lucius was. He really shouldn’t judge her so harshly the way he always did; she was trying, after all.

 

Without thinking twice to put a stopper on the anger bubbling up inside him, he yanked out his wand fired a curse, which just barely missed Potter’s face. Draco winced slightly, deciding that probably hadn’t been the best move—he needed to learn to control that hate and impulsiveness; it would one day burn his insides to ash—and apparently someone else felt the same way, because from behind, he vaguely heard someone shout something, and then it was like his body was being squished and pulled and morphed, similar to apparition, but not quite the same. It was more painful than apparition, but he couldn’t tell what was happening, or where he was going, although he felt a bit like he was falling… Since when had everyone become so tall? They were all giants… unless suddenly he was very, very small.

 

Realization dawned on him as he saw small, white paws beneath him and turned around to view none other than Mad-Eye Moody there, wand out, a sneer slathered across his twisted face.

 

He started to scamper backward and felt a large hand grab him and start to lift, until Moody yelled at Vincent to put him back down.

 

Fear began to eat away at his conscious thoughts as he watched Moody take a step forward. That maniac was going to kill him!

 

_ Quick, where’s the best place to hide that I can reach efficiently? _

 

Dungeons. Closest and darkest place of the castle.

 

Allowing his animal instincts to take over, he dashed off in that direction but was abruptly stopped.

 

He felt as though something had grabbed him by the back of the spine and was jerking him upwards. Then his body came hurtling back down towards the ground, and he braced himself for the impact, attempting to scream, but only managing a weak squeak.

 

Finally, after what seemed like hours, McGonagall dashed over and prevented Moody from doing any (permanent) damage.

 

Once he was turned back, he nearly passed out from relief.

 

“My father  _ will _ hear about this,” Draco snarled at Moody as he started to drag him to the dungeons, as McGonagall had insisted that he discuss the offense with Snape, Draco’s Head of House, rather than punish him with transfiguration.

 

As Moody dragged him down the hall, Draco rubbed his back. That was going to hurt tomorrow.

 

Moody flung open the door to Snape’s office, and Draco shook Moody off of his arm, giving the man a snide look and a sneer.

 

Snape stood up.

 

“What is this?” he asked slowly, eyeing Moody.

 

“He shot a curse at Potter from behind, and Minerva said I should bring it up with you.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Snape responded, still watching Moody. “I will take it from here.”

 

“I want him to have several detentions! Completely cowardly thing to do—curse someone from behind…”

 

“He will have detention, Alastor. I will handle this. Go to dinner.”

 

“Fine,” said Moody reluctantly, shuffling out.

 

When the door closed behind, Snape turned to Draco, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”

 

Draco nodded, sitting down slowly, wincing in pain as he went.

 

“I will tell you everything about earlier with Potter, but there’s something else that I need to talk to you about first.” He’d actually already been planning on coming down here earlier, so this was as good a time as any to say something. He just had to get it out before Snape got on his case about cursing Potter when he hadn’t needed to.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“Well, I had a vision recently,” Draco began.

 

“Yes, that does seem to be a trend,” Snape said flatly.

 

Draco gave him a look. “Anyway, it was… I don’t know. More intense than usual, and a lot more important, too.”

 

“Do elaborate,” Snape said, watching Draco expectantly.

 

“Well, I saw three possible flows of time and two possible outcomes. In two of paths, Potter dies, and so does the wizarding world—the first outcome. In the second outlook and final scenario, that Diggory boy dies instead, and our world survives.”

 

Snape frowned. “Go back to the beginning. Explain to me every detail about how these deaths are related to our world ending, as you have not yet made that clear.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Um… well, in the first version, there’s some goblet that presents two names when I think it was only supposed to present one,” Draco started. By the look on his godfather’s face, that was probably somewhat accurate. “It gives out both Diggory’s and Potter’s. Potter is met with happiness, and I guess that everyone is too supportive or something, because it seems like he doesn’t have enough driving him forward to learn what he has to do to survive. I don’t know. He also seemed to be a little bit cockier, and got to the end of this maze at the same time as Cedric—I don’t know how the maze fits into everything, in case you’re wondering—but took some cup before Diggory. It took him to a graveyard, where he was killed in a duel against the newly-risen Dark Lord. In the second version, the only name that comes out of the goblet is Cedric’s. Potter never duels with the Dark Lord, but he does still end up coming back, and Cedric still dies. However, we win the war. In the final version, both names come out of the goblet, but this time, no one is happy for Potter. Instead, they seem to all be upset with him for it. I guess he learns more or something, maybe because he wants to prove something to them; I don’t know, but when he gets to the graveyard—that's where the duel happens—he wins. That time, Diggory and he grabbed the cup at the same time, which results in Cedric’s death. I don’t know how Cedric died in the second version.”

 

He didn’t mention the fact that Snape was going to die. He knew that giving someone too much of an idea of their own future could result in an even worse one than what they were already slated to inherit.

 

Snape pursed his lips, thinking. “Then we are going to have to work hard to make sure that this falls to the hands of one of those final two possibilities.”

 

Draco nodded, thinking. He didn’t want to lose Severus Snape. That man was practically his father.

 

“Draco,” Snape said quietly. “I know you are hiding something. If you want my help, you have to tell me everything—every detail, no matter how small or insignificant it seems. And if you are deliberately keeping it from my knowledge, I dare say it is something I should know.”

 

“I can’t say it,” Draco whispered. He’d learned that from experience. Tell someone of their possible death and it becomes unchangeable and fixed in the future.

 

Snape smiled sadly. “Ah. Yes, then I will die?” Draco looked up at his professor, surprised. “I do know how this works, Draco. You have spoken to me on this subject before. If you cannot tell me, then whatever it is directly concerns my future.”

 

“But how do you know that you are going to die?”

 

“I have known for a while. We still have time to change that path of mine, but it is none of your concern. You should be focused on what  _ you _ must do to save Potter, not me.”

 

“But—”

 

“I have long since made my peace with my death. Do not trouble yourself over the fact that it will come.”

 

Draco nodded, not wanting to say anything. He was worried that if he did, he might start crying. Sure, he and Snape didn’t always get along, and it wasn’t like Snape was the most caring person in the world, but Snape was one of the only people Draco had come to trust would always be there when he needed him.

 

“Calm yourself, Draco. Everybody dies. It is the only thing in life that is certain, inevitable, mandatory.” That didn’t make Draco feel any better, but he got the sense that it was the best Snape could do. “Onto other matters… I am not going to punish you for whatever happened with Potter earlier, but you will have three detentions with me, two hours each, since Moody seemed so fixated on your punishment, and we will spend the time attempting to ensure this does not all go to shit.”

 

Draco nodded again. He swallowed, trying to convince himself that there was still a possibility that Snape wouldn’t die, and attempted to move past it. In doing so, he remembered something else he’d wanted to mention. “I get a strange feeling whenever Moody is around me.” He wasn’t sure why he said it, but he supposed that, if they were going to talk about all the weird things going on, he might as well mention it.

 

Snape cocked his head. “I do as well. I was unsure if it was simply because of my own prejudice toward him, but you have added some merit to this. This year, we are going to have a lot to do, but we should also perhaps keep an eye on him. That may be in our best interest.”

 

“Thank you for your help,” Draco whispered.

 

Snape gave a quick nod, which Draco guessed was his way of showing he was (sort of) glad to lend a hand, and said, “Go have dinner, Draco.”

 

Draco stood and gave his professor an awkward smile, understanding that Snape was doing his best to be what Draco needed right then. He silently glided from the room, having little intention of actually going to dinner.

 


	7. Defence Against the Dark Arts and Detention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during, “The Unforgivable Curses,” which is chapter fourteen in the actual book.

 

A few days passed before Draco’s first detention, mostly due to scheduling conflicts, which meant that Draco spent half a week with his mind bent beyond belief and his stomach doing stupendous acrobatics in worry of screwing up something permanently. Everything about his situation was nerve-wracking—anything he did at any point in time could send things spiraling down the wrong path!

 

But, despite this unease he felt, Draco still kept everything bottled up inside. Who could he talk to about all of this, after all? None of the other Slytherins knew about his abilities—and they’d probably crucify him if they did—and it was so hard to find Professor Snape with a free moment long enough to talk about this during the same amount of time that he had nothing to be doing. As before—scheduling conflicts.

 

So while all of his anxiety festered inside of him, Draco tried to distract himself by reading as much as he could. On top that, he did every conceivable thing to get a perfect score on every conceivable piece of work that he possibly could. That left him with so little time to think about everything that he generally felt fine—almost.

 

There was still that pressing problem that the boy he liked—who was supposed to be the thing that caused him joy—must be kept under the impression that Draco hated him, which was also very time consuming, so that often occupied his mind, even when everything else wasn’t.

 

The one thing that he should have been looking forward to along with everyone else did nothing for him. The prospect of watching three—or, if the possible futures he’d seen were to be believed, four—young wizards compete in ridiculously extreme challenges did not seem even remotely interesting to him; instead the prospect was stressful and made him start squirming in his seat with each fleeting thought—but that was quite possibly due to the fact that the Triwizard Tournament seemed to embody whatever would happen at the end of the year, in his mind.

 

And then there was Alastor Moody. The idea of classes with him seemed to excite everyone except for Draco. Instead, he felt that it was simply another task that may or may not turn out in his favor. There was nothing definitively  _ bad _ about Moody, per se; something just seemed off, and even his godfather seemed to think so. Perhaps it was just the fact that the two of them were both typically distrusting and cautious towards the majority of people, but there did seem to be something different about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, even if neither of them could quite put a finger on it.

 

But, when the day finally did roll around on which Draco was to have his first lesson with the ex-auror, he decided he might as well follow the instructions he had acquired a few nights prior. He would observe Moody and attempt to spot anything strange about him. Or, strang _ er _ .

 

And that was why, on the day of the first lesson with Moody, Draco wasn’t stressed out—at least, not completely. While he did have yet another task to complete, well, it meant he would have more to do, which meant something to take his mind off things.

 

When he sat down at the Slytherin table contemplating what the first lesson might entail, Blaise seemed to have the exact same thing on his mind.

 

“What do you think Moody will teach us?” he asked, sitting down next to Draco. “I heard a rumor that he’ll show us the Unforgivable Curses, but how likely do you think that is?”

 

Draco did not particularly want to talk at the moment, so gave the briefest answer he could think of: “I have no clue.”

 

He said it in as normal a manner as possible—it was a habit of his to attempt to make his fellow Slytherin pureblood students feel accepted—but somehow, Blaise still managed to pick up on his annoyance.

 

“Oh, sorry,” Blaise said, sitting back. “I’ll stop talking.”

 

Draco frowned at the boy. He was always very good at sensing moods, no matter how hard Draco tried.

 

“No, if you want to talk to me, I’ll listen,” Draco quickly amended. He didn’t want Blaise to start disliking his company; his father would not be pleased.

 

Blaise shook his head. “No. I see how hard you try to present yourself how others want you to. You should have people that you don’t have to do that around. You should have real friends. You know, who support you and back you up and you don’t ever have to pretend around.” Blaise watched him, his eyes boring into Draco’s soul.

 

Draco cautiously contemplated his next words. What was Blaise trying to say here? That he wanted the two of them to be friends? Or had someone put him up to this? The latter was probably more likely.

 

“Okay,” he said slowly, raising an eyebrow to show that he was not totally in agreement with Blaise.

 

“Just saying.” Blaise shrugged defensively and got up. “I should probably go help Theo find his DADA book. He’s been missing it all week, and now he actually needs it.”

 

Draco nodded silently, going back to staring down at his food. Not that he really ate much of it.

  
  


Draco sat down nervously in class, his heart pumping.

 

_ Why do I feel so uneasy? _ he wondered. It didn’t seem like he should, but like before, something about Moody set him on edge.

 

_ Perhaps it’s his knack for finding people’s darkest secrets and exposing them, being an auror and all. To think what would happen if he found out about either of mine… _

 

That would not be pleasant. Being outed as gay would definitely get him kicked out of his house, not to mention the bullying and ridicule he would be subject to.

 

And as for the other thing…. Well, if it came out that his family members weren’t all purebloods, it could destroy everything. Sure, now, about four or five generations later, they were about as close as most people could come to being of pure blood, but still. It wouldn’t matter that they had pure magical blood. All that would matter was that they weren’t pure  _ human _ …. Wizarding prejudices against his great-great-grandfather’s kind were heavy.

 

Draco was sure that last part was probably why the Malfoys had kept their  _ other _ bloodline a secret. After all, the press discovering back then that they weren’t purebloods wouldn’t have been catastrophic, but the press finding out about what they  _ really _ were would be. But, of course, it wasn’t like he could ask his parents if that was why they never said anything. There were some things you just didn’t ask, and that was one of them.

 

And, of course, now they truly couldn’t say anything for fear of the Dark Lord or any of his followers uncovering their lineage.

 

But that was a story for another time, and Draco decided to push the subject from his mind for now. He was supposed to be focusing on the lesson, after all, despite the fact that his intention was not solely to learn.

 

Just then, Moody came blazing in and instructed them to put away their books.

 

_ So much for Theo’s treasure hunt, _ Draco smiled to himself as Moody began barking orders.

 

Draco spent most of the class letting Moody’s words slip through his mind, but the one thing that stuck was the Unforgivable Curses. They just didn’t sit well with him, maybe because those were things he knew his parents had done, or maybe because he simply knew that they had been performed on people, but they made him feel uneasy the same way that Moody did, like there was something not quite right about each of them.

  
  


When Moody dismissed the class (after yelling at them about “ _ CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” _ ), Draco practically leapt out of his seat, ready to escape the feeling of his magic squirming inside of him.

  
  


Once the class had ended, Draco (thankfully) escaped Vincent and Gregory but was cornered by Blaise.

 

“Are you okay, Draco? You seemed a bit odd in there,” he said. It almost sounded like there was  _ concern  _ in his voice, but it had to have been faked… right?

 

“I’m fine,” Draco said as he made a mental note to be better about keeping his discomfort in Moody’s class under wraps. Yet another thing he had to add to an ever-growing list of actions and reactions that he had to keep from the public eye and pretend as though didn’t exist.

 

“Alright,” Blaise murmured, watching Draco for a second before turning and walking away.

 

Draco let out a breath, and pivoted towards the stairwell at his left and began the steep ascent to the Astronomy Tower.

 

He wondered what Blaise’s motives were, to suddenly start acting the way he was. Did he honestly care? Had he truly noticed how lonely Draco seemed? Or was it all just a ploy to get Draco to open up, to say something he shouldn’t? Especially since he hadn’t really seemed like this before.

 

_ Maybe I need to get better at trusting people, _ he thought bitterly. What was so wrong with him that he couldn’t just accept that someone genuinely wanted to help?

 

He let the subject go as he reached his next destination, dropped his things down on a desk, plopped into a random seat, and decided that he could ignore all of his worries a little longer.

  
  


Later that evening, Draco slipped into Snape’s office, quietly sitting down in the seat before the desk.

 

Snape glanced up. “You could do to make a little more noise, Draco. Most people do not appreciate being snuck up on.” He put down what he was working on. “We should decide what we are going to do, tonight. Unless there was something else?”

 

Draco nodded, not objecting to his professor’s suggestion.

 

Snape frowned at the boy. “Is something going on? You are quieter today than usual.”

 

Draco shrugged. “Yeah. Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.” It was true.

 

“I know that I am probably not your first choice, but I will always help if the situation requires it.”

 

“I know,” Draco muttered. “Can we just get to work? But, actually,” he quickly said, changing his mind. He could mention at least one of the things he was thinking about. “You said that you thought perhaps we should keep an eye on Moody… I think maybe he’s doing the same to us. He was watching me in class today, like there was something he wanted to know, to find out, but didn’t quite know what it was.”

 

Snape looked thoughtful. “I appreciate this new information. We must be careful with our words and actions around him, or he might find our secrets before we find his.” Snape pursed his lips. “If that is all, then, to start off, for now, I do not think we should intervene in any extreme manner. We do not have a full picture, and things can still change before the names come from the goblet. Keep in mind that you only saw a few possibilities, none of which are set in stone, and we may have an outcome that mirrors not a single one of them.”

 

Draco gave a curt nod.

 

“Our main focus will be keeping Potter’s name out of the Triwizard Tournament. That, from what information you have relayed to me, seems to be the safest and least lethal option. After the names are drawn, if our efforts have thus far failed, we will change our approach to something that then seems fitting.”

 

“But, sir, then Diggory will still die. He doesn’t deserve that. He seems like a good kid!” Draco tried to keep his voice calm, but noticed his distress becoming slowly more apparent.

 

“Yes, Draco. But, in all the listed outcomes, he died. Or at least in the outcomes that are optimal. That should point to the fact that his death may be pertinent to our success. But remember—that does not make his death mandatory; however, it cannot be our main focus. He is still a living child, but his life will not greatly impact how this war will end. And in times of war, hard calls such as these must be made.”

 

“War?” Draco asked slowly.

 

“Yes, Draco. In all of the options, there was a war, and I think that is inevitable. If the Dark Lord rises—and mind me, he will—there will be a war.”

 

“Oh,” Draco said. He felt kind of stupid for it now, but he’d been hoping that perhaps his godfather would present a way around it, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that there  _ wasn’t _ one. If the Dark Lord was alive—which he was—nothing would stop him from returning, and when he returned, the rest of the wizarding world would put up a fight, no matter what. It was their only option other than utter destruction.

 


	8. Curses, (Possible) Comrades, and Cute Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during chapter fifteen, “Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.” I would also like to note (just in case you’ve forgotten) that in the books, both of these schools were co-ed.

Draco watched his feet as he walked down the now mostly-empty hallways. It was getting late, close to curfew, so he was the only one out there, besides Mrs. Norris and Peeves.

 

If things did not go the right way with the choosing of the Champions, Draco was going to have to pull some serious strings.

 

From what it had seemed from the visions, Harry would need something to push him to be better, to work harder, and he realized that he might be that determining factor. He would have to be more ruthless than ever to make sure that Harry Potter was not supported by the rest of the school so that he would have a reason to win, and that would involve a very carefully formulated plan.

 

If he overdid it, it might discourage Potter, but if he didn’t do enough, Potter would become too cocky and arrogant, as he often seemed to do. So how would he find that balance?

 

Probably a question for Professor Snape, but in the meantime, he could start planning ways to anger Potter, as he often found it hard to come up with them on the fly. It just wasn’t really in his nature, so time to prepare would be helpful. That was what he often did, to appease his father.

 

He cringed at the thought of spending all year devoting a decent portion of his life to bullying Potter and his friends, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

 

_ There is still a large chance that none of that will ever have to happen, _ Draco reminded himself.  _ You might just have to deal with the normal amount. _

 

Draco finally reached the Slytherin Common Room, and murmured the password (“Merlin”), and walked in, to find only a few people remaining out of the dorms, much to his surprise. Generally speaking, the Slytherins stayed up as late as humanly possible.

 

Draco cautiously headed up to his dormitory, wondering what the peace and quiet downstairs was all about, and entered to find about twenty boys in varying degrees of nakedness with a pile of Exploding Snap cards in the middle of them and a bottle of firewhiskey at the side. All of them were shouting and laughing, until they saw Draco standing in the doorway.

 

“You should come join,” Adrian Pucey, a sixth year, slurred.

 

“No thanks,” Draco said carefully. “I actually have a lot to do.”

 

“You’re such a nerd,” he grumbled. “Come on, you’ll have fun!”

 

“Playing strip Exploding Snap and drinking? I’d really rather not,” he said, trying to ignore as Montague started shouting a string of slurs at him.

 

At that moment, Blaise came barging in, his mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but, upon viewing the scene, immediately turned around saying, “Come on, Draco, we should get on that Potions homework, shouldn’t we?”

 

Draco, knowing that they—well, he, at least—didn’t really have any homework left to do, let out a sigh of relief as Blaise pulled him away.

 

Well, at least now he knew where everyone was.

 

“That looked iffy,” Blaise said casually. “You don’t think we should go join, do you?”

 

“Not particularly, no,” Draco said, his worry beginning to creep back. Blaise wasn’t going to make him return, was he?

 

“Yeah, neither do I. Have you ever had firewhiskey?”

 

“Um… yes?” Draco asked, not sure what Blaise wanted him to say.

 

“Oh, stop lying to seem cool. You totally haven’t. I have, but it’s not really everything it’s cracked up to be, so you’re not missing anything, don’t worry.”

 

Draco nodded, and said, “Okay, sure,” seeing as he could think of absolutely nothing else.

 

Blaise frowned. “But that’s not really why you didn’t want to be in there, is it?”

 

“No, no, I don’t want to drink,” Draco said quickly, trying to gloss over the suddenly bared truth that he just  _ knew _ Blaise would find a way to unearth.

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes. “You can talk to me, Draco.”

 

“No, I can’t,” Draco insisted.

 

“Yes, you can! I know that you’ve dealt with a lot of people who are just trying to use you or hurt you, but that’s not what I’ll do!”

 

“And how do I know that I can trust you?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow as they stood in the empty hallway.

 

“Good point,” Blaise said, frowning. “I guess you don’t. But that’s what friendship is—taking a blind leap and hoping you made the right choice. You can never be completely certain.”

 

“Okay, assume I do agree to talk to you. Why do you suddenly seem so interested in me?” It was something Draco had been dying to ask for a while. “We were barely on a first-name basis last year.”

 

“I don’t know. I guess that last year, I started noticing that you didn’t really seem like you were close with anyone, like you had no  _ real _ friends, just superficial ones, and then I started paying more attention, since that can be very detrimental to a person’s mental well being, and I started to see how little you ate and how closed off you really acted, despite how hard you try to present otherwise. I’m good at reading people—”

 

“No duh,” Draco interrupted.

 

“Not the time for snarky side-comments,” Blaise sighed. “Anyway, I was kind of worried about you, because I started to realize if all of that is just a facade, then you might really be a decent guy underneath—”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Draco snorted.

 

“Can I finish?” Blaise asked, giving Draco a pointed look.

 

“Sorry,” Draco muttered.

 

“It’s fine. But to continue, I realized that you might be a decent guy, just with a thick, bristly layer covering you up and making you seem like a pompous ass—”

 

“Lovely. You really think highly of me.”

 

“Draco!”

 

“Right. I’ll shut up,” Draco said, only now beginning to realize how ingrained it had become in him to always have a sarcastic, snide remark to anything anyone said.

 

“Moving on, I gave it a lot of thought over summer break, and decided I’d look out for you, since you were starting to seem like a worthwhile person, if what I thought about you was true.”

 

“But… why bother?”

 

“I guess I felt like I was in a similar situation as you were. I was supposed to be friends with the same people you were; it was expected of me. But that meant I couldn’t have any  _ other _ friends or those ones would get suspicious. I’m sure you’ve felt the same in the past. I wanted to be friends with you because I felt that we were alike, in a way, that being alone part. They really seem to like each other, believe what their parents tell them; I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

 

“You don’t believe… what your parents say?” Draco asked carefully. Perhaps Blaise hadn’t meant that, but perhaps…

 

Blaise went pale. “No, I just meant—they think that they should… be friends with one another, unlike the two of us.”

 

“Blaise,” Draco said softly.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I know what you meant. I don’t, either.” It was so risky for him to say so, but he felt like maybe it was the right move. But maybe he’d pay for it later.

 

Blaise nodded. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Then, I thought that, perhaps, being the only other person I could count on to be like that—more open-minded, accepting. Obviously, from my actions a few moments ago, I wasn’t totally sure, but I figured, you’d be useful to have on my side.”

 

So he did have an ulterior motive. He thought they could be allies, should Voldemort return. Blaise’s parents knew, too, he guessed, with the Dark Mark returning, so he wanted reassurance that he wouldn’t be alone against them. “Do you feel differently now? About having me on your side?”

 

“Well, now, I suppose I think that sticking together would be beneficial, but I also think you could make a good friend, which was the other thing I had originally hoped for—that much of what I first said is true. I don’t like being alone; I like having people to talk to—”

 

“I’ve noticed.”

 

Blaise didn’t even comment on the interruption that time. He just continued with, “I was really starting to feel it, not having anyone close to me.”

 

“Okay. Where does this put us?”

 

“I don’t know,” Blaise responded. “Wherever you want us to be.”

 

“I’m not really sure, either,” Draco said slowly.

 

“That’s fine. But anyway, back to the original topic,” Blaise said, laughing nervously. “You didn’t want to be in there for more than just the drinking, right?”

 

Draco glanced up and down the hallway they were still standing in, unsure of how to get out of this. Blaise would clearly know if he lied, which would say just as much as telling the truth. He knew they were now friends—maybe—sort of—but there were some things that he really just couldn’t say. At least with telling Blaise that he didn’t believe everything that his parents did he knew that someone would support him—Snape, or Dumbledore, the Gryffindors, most of the people at school—should something go wrong. But this? No. He wasn’t ready.

 

“I don’t feel comfortable talking about this here,” he eventually decided to say.

 

Blaise shrugged. “It’s totally cool, you know. I don’t really care.”

 

“About  _ what, _ ” Draco ground out through gritted teeth.

 

“Right, sorry,” Blaise said. “We’re not talking about ‘that.’ But in the meantime, I think that those guys are going to be occupying our dorm for a decent amount of time, so why don’t we go find some homework that needs doing or a game that needs playing?”

 

“I’ve got some Potions homework left, actually,” Draco said, remembering it suddenly. He felt guilty about thinking earlier how it was just Blaise who didn’t get his homework done on time.

 

“Great! So I wasn’t lying when I said we needed to finish it!”

 

“Well, technically, you were, seeing as you couldn’t have known.”

 

“Oh, hush,” Blaise whined, and told Draco he needed to grab some things, but then he’d be down in the Common Room ready to do homework. Draco sincerely doubted that he actually would do anything at all, but he decided it would probably be better than being completely alone, especially since Blaise seemed to want to get to know the real him.

  
  


As Draco laid down on the couch (Blaise had taken the love seat in the corner), he felt his head begin to ache and refrained from groaning loudly. He was  _ not _ in the mood for another vision.

 

He stared up at the steadily darkening ceiling as he waited for it to fully hit, which took about ten more minutes. He stayed there with his eyes closed and hoped it looked like he was sleeping to Blaise, although he was pretty sure the other boy was already out like a light.

  
What he saw was completely underwhelming, which he was mildly glad for. He had been having far too many intense, involved visions of late.

 

All it was was a large black dog standing in Hogsmeade, which looked vaguely familiar, but he figured that probably didn’t matter much. After all, the dog wasn’t doing anything, so the vision didn’t have any importance… right?

  
  


As Draco sat down for his next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, he realized that he did actually feel (at least a little) curious about today’s lesson. Everyone else seemed to absolutely adore Moody (even the other Slytherins), which was a first (the Hogwarts Houses could never agree on anything, and even if they did, that agreement never seemed to include the Slytherins, as the others often appeared to forget about them). He wasn’t sure if he had simply begun to internalize this worship of the ex-auror or if he had genuinely started to wonder what the man had to offer.

 

As class started, he decided that it was probably the former, as Moody still rubbed him the wrong way, just as before, and this time, the rest of his house seemed to perhaps agree when their “professor” announced they would be put under the Imperius Curse and be attempting to fight.

 

Draco didn’t feel particularly annoyed with the lesson choice, but he was concerned that it could have poor results, should Moody attempt to compel any of them to reveal secrets of any form—Merlin knew that Draco had far too many deep ones for that to end well.

 

Fortunately, most of them did not seem to have to do anything to do with telling the truth, merely giving long speeches instead.

 

Draco had at first assumed that perhaps they could hold some merit, until Theo began reciting a sonnet of some form in Shakespearean-esk language mostly consisting of the recurring theme that the Gryffindors were much better in every way, shape, and form than the Slytherins.

 

When it was Draco’s turn, he stepped up cautiously, waiting for some sure sign that he was being bent and manipulated, but it never came. Instead, a calm, cool sensation rushed over him, and he found that he no longer cared about being put under a spell, because he felt so much better now, with a peaceful silence in his mind.

 

_ Tell them all about how amazing you think that Hermione Granger is, _ said a small voice in the back of his head.

 

He frowned slightly, wondering why he would after how hard he had worked to cover up his true feelings towards any of the Gryffindors were, but that voice seemed to think it was best… yes, it must be right.

 

He opened his mouth to start speaking, but then second-guessed himself. Was this really a good idea?

 

_ Just say it. It doesn’t matter, _ the voice whispered.

 

He decided that he should probably listen, and began to rave about how amazing Granger was, how wonderful she was at everything she did, and how he would love to be good enough to date her.

 

When he finally ran out of endorsements to give, the voice slipped from his head, followed by that pleasant calm, leaving him with his normal state of mild anxiety, and his usual thoughts came rushing back.

 

Blaise snorted. “It’s so funny to watch you slowly realize what you just said,” he grinned.

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “You just confessed your undying love for Weasel, so you can shut up.”

 

Blaise raised his hands in surrender, his smile unfaded.

 

Draco stepped back over to him to watch the next victim—student—take her turn, Blaise said, “I wonder why he’s making us all talk about feelings we don’t really have. I heard that the Gryffindors all had to do physical things, like jump for ten minutes straight, and perform gymnastics. Apparently, Longbottom executed a perfect backflip.”

 

“He probably assumes that none of us ever talk about our feelings, which would be more embarrassing than anything else. The Gryffindors would probably do just about anything, so he chose something dangerous for them,” Draco said in an obnoxiously logical tone.

 

“Oh, come on, you can be more fun than that. If you’re just going to give me a flat answer like that, I think that I prefer the snide, snappy Draco to this one.”

 

Draco shrugged. “Alright then, but you’re the one who asked me to be more like myself.”

 

“There’s the sass,” Blaise smirked. “But please, if that’s not who you really want to be, don’t be him.”

 

“We’re not talking about this right now,” Draco said, aware of all the people listening. He was going to have to have a nice long chat with Blaise in private about what he could say when and what he couldn’t  _ ever _ say, because otherwise, he was going to have to deal with some nasty rumors.

  
  


As October 30th neared, Draco began to wonder if anything that Snape was doing would work—not that he’d actually say. As his godfather put it, “You are still a child; I do not care what you say about ‘being a teen.’ This is stressful, and in depth, and not something that you should be focusing on right now. I am perfectly capable of doing such things as this myself, so why don’t you concern yourself with your studies until we know whether or not Potter’s name will be in the Tournament?”

 

Draco, annoyed at how unfair his teacher and mentor was being, eventually let it go as homework piled up and he came to the conclusion that Snape could probably handle one month of such a project by himself.

 

However, this did not prevent him from anxiously awaiting the moment at which he would discover if it had worked, or if he had a long year ahead of him yet.

 

So, on the day that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived, it made sense that Draco’s curiosity was piqued and his nervous mind was running. Blaise, who had slowly managed to convince Draco that perhaps there was a chance he wasn’t out to get Draco, definitely seemed to notice, and was prodding him as they walked to class.

 

“Why do you seem so off today?” Blaise asked.

 

“I do?” Draco frowned. He had thought he’d been hiding it well, but trust Blaise to find exactly what he wanted to be left uncovered.

 

“Is it because the other schools are arriving? It is, right?”

 

“I guess, sort of,” Draco admitted.

 

“Why? Are you hoping you might meet someone? Or is that what you’re afraid of?” Blaise raised an eyebrow at Draco.

 

“Can you stop asking me about that?” Draco snapped. Once again, he was so not ready to start discussing his sexuality.

 

Blaise grumbled. “You never want to talk about crushes, friends, family, sports, books, homework, clothes, classmates, or food! What am I supposed to ask you about?”

 

“I don’t know. You tell me, since you seem to know me so well.” Draco sneered at him a little, frustrated with how Blaise always just wanted him to  _ talk _ .

 

“You know, it’s not my fault I’m good at reading you, and it’s also not my fault that I want to be your friend. I wanted so badly to help you, not just to hang out with you, and I thought that we were making progress, but maybe we’re not.” He shook his head. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he muttered and marched off in a different direction.

 

Draco stood there, watching Blaise go, and wondering if perhaps he should just accept the fact that maybe Blaise was okay to be around. Or maybe he should just push him away on the off chance that he wasn’t. That was what he had been doing but it didn’t really seem to be working.

 

_ I’ll apologize to him tonight, _ Draco decided.  _ I’ll try to be better. _ And with that, he continued on to his next class, his mind back on the guests to appear shortly.

 

And when they did, he was mildly underwhelmed.

 

He stood with everyone else, awaiting their imminent arrival, and shivering in the cold, wondering if Blaise was ever going to show up, when he first saw the carriage that must have belonged to Beauxbatons.

 

He had expected a much more dramatic entrance, to be honest, after reading up on the school, but no matter. They were here, after all, which was enough.

 

He felt people moving behind him and he looked away from the scene for a second—the carriage had just landed—to see Blaise beside him.

 

“Took you long enough,” he whispered.

 

Blaise shot him a look. “Draco—”

 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he sighed, knowing he shouldn’t let Blaise have to prod him into saying it. “I will try to be more open with you. I want to be friends. I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.” It wasn’t something he was used to telling another person, and it felt strange on his tongue. One of his father’s many lessons—always stand by your actions. Never apologize.

 

But this seemed like a much better way to be, and it seemed to make Blaise happy because just like that, Blaise grinned and said, “Brilliant!”

 

Draco just nodded, and suddenly, Blaise seemed to be cool with Draco again, which made him think that perhaps Blaise really was being honest when he said he wanted to help.

 

“Blaise,” Draco began slowly.

 

He glanced back at the carriage, from which a boy about his age had just lept.

 

He was dressed in pale blue robes and honestly… quite attractive.

 

“Like what you see?” Blaise whispered in Draco’s ear, who immediately shifted his gaze and attempted to school his features into a sullen silence.

 

“What do mean?” Draco asked coldly, refusing to allow himself to blush.

 

“I thought you were going to give this a shot?” Blaise pouted.

 

“Right, but that doesn’t mean spilling every little secret of mine right off the bat.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Draco turned his attention back to the disembarking Beauxbatons students, and the boy from before caught his eye and…  _ winked _ .

 

Draco’s heart lept and he glanced behind him. That boy couldn’t possibly have been looking at him. Right? There was no way in hell.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note to all of my (ex-) gymnasts out there: I, too, hate the word “backflip,” but unfortunately, it must—at times—be used. To everyone else: The proper term is “back tuck.” (Blaise used “backflip” when talking about what Neville had to do.)


	9. Blaise, Beauxbatons, and Boyfriends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This transpires during “The Goblet of Fire.” (Book chapter #16.) Also, I just want to say thank you to all the nice comments! It really means a lot to me.

 

Draco shuffled inside, staring at his feet while Blaise went on about how broom models didn’t seem to be getting any better; rather, it seemed as if companies wanted to label themselves as the “new and improved,” but really weren’t.

 

Draco couldn’t care less about the topic, but it seemed to make Blaise happy, so he listened dutifully.

 

As he pretended to be understanding everything that Blaise was saying, he wondered where the other schools would be sitting in the Great Hall and, more importantly, where they would be staying, but he figured those questions would be answered in due time. He was not in the mood to have to share a dorm with even more hyperactive teenage boys.

 

The first question was resolved when the Durmstrang students sat at the Slytherin’s table (at the Slytherin students’ beckoning, of course), which lead Draco to (foolishly) hope that the Beauxbatons group would sit with them as well, but unfortunately, they chose the Ravenclaw table instead.

 

As he glanced around the Great Hall, however, he noticed that perhaps he was not the only one disappointed to not be sitting a certain boy from another school.

 

He saw Weasley practically drooling while he watched Viktor Krum, which Draco found mildly amusing.

 

As Draco sat down, Krum found a seat right across from him, much to his surprise.

 

He noted an extremely jealous look flash across Weasley’s face, which he decided he shouldn’t concern himself with too greatly—after all, it wasn’t as if he’d  _ asked  _ Krum to sit with him.

 

“Are you the son of Lucius Malfoy?” Krum asked.

 

“How do you know who my father is?”

 

“Because we both ‘ave vathers of the sort,” Krum replied, “And mine vould vant me to sit vith you.”

 

“Ah,” Draco said, unsure of how to continue in conversation.

 

“So, you’re the Bulgarian Seeker, eh?” Blaise asked excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to meet you!”

 

At that point, Draco decided that perhaps he couldn’t be held responsible for how the rest of the evening went down, and checked himself out of the fangirl explosion that Blaise was having.

 

Instead, he pushed his food around his plate, not really touching any of it. Blaise had become rather pushy about making sure that Draco ate, but today, it seemed, the boy was preoccupied with Krum.

 

He listened to Dumbledore talk about the Goblet of Fire with little interest as he pretended to eat, as he already knew this was how the champions would be chosen, although he had no idea how Potter’s name would end up in there—after all, it was Dumbledore securing the Goblet of Fire. No fourth year should be able to get passed it. But then, he supposed that someone else might be able to enter  _ for _ Potter. Who would, though? Someone would probably notice if a Death Eater marched in and stuck a piece of paper labeled “Harry Potter” in a large flaming goblet.

 

While he was completely checked out of everything going on at the table, Draco did, of course, sit up straight and pretend to seem engaged in the conversation. Ministry officials were there, and he wouldn’t want to send the wrong impression. It was more than a little tiring to always have to think about things like that.

 

After about an hour, Draco decided that he would be done for the night and rose from the table, murmuring his goodbyes (which no one really responded to, as expected), and walked back in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room with the sole intention of doing his homework and going to bed.

 

Not looking where he was going (he was staring at a book he had picked from the library the previous day), he slammed into something strong and sturdy. Or, rather, some _ one _ .

 

“Oh! Pardon,” the person exclaimed, and Draco glanced up to see the boy from earlier. Up close, he was pretty cute. “Euh… excuse me, sorry,” he said. “I did not see you.” He had a heavy French accent.

 

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” Draco responded. “You are from Beauxbatons?”

 

The boy grinned, winking at Draco. The action made his heart flutter.

 

“Indeed, yes. My name eez Adrianne. Who are you?”

 

“Draco,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving Adrianne’s eyes. “Shouldn’t you be with your school in the Great Hall?”

 

“I got lost on ze way to ze bathroom,” he said, and all Draco could think was,  _ What a classic line. He must have been somewhere he shouldn’t have. _

 

“There is one right down the hall that way,” Draco said, pointing, “in case you didn’t find it. And the Great Hall is back that way, in case you did.” He did his best to give a friendly smile and then scolded himself on it mentally. Lucius would not appreciate hearing that his son had googly eyes for someone from Beauxbatons—not to mention the person being a guy.

 

“Euh, yes, thank you.”

 

Draco smiled again, nodding, unable to form a witty retort about the boy getting lost.

 

“If you need any help, I’d be happy to lend you a hand,” Draco added, smacking himself mentally again. He never had trouble like this around Potter.

 

“I think I am fine for now, but ze offer is appreciated.” Adrianne watched Draco for a moment or two before saying, “But per’aps we could be friends.”

 

Draco agreed, “That might be nice.” He needed to get better about this. At least Potter was mean to him so he could use anger already there to cultivate a snappy response.

 

Adrianne flashed him another grin, and walked away, leaving Draco there smacking himself for the way he had acted. Four years pretending that he had no feelings towards Potter, and then he blundered like  _ this. _ What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he have just passed Adrianne off and dismissed him right away? That would have been easier; now he was stuck with someone who might end up sticking around for much longer than he needed and causing Draco more stress and worry than some boy was worth.

 

He shook his head and continued walking, although he suddenly heard Blaise’s voice call out from behind him, “So, you like the new French kids too, huh?”

 

He whirled around snapping, “Keep your voice down, will you? If you are going to make unfounded accusations like that, you might as well make sure that other people don’t start believing them too!”

 

Blaise held up his hands. “Hey, I never implied anything  _ bad _ , did I? Although I did catch the tail end of that conversation, and something tells me that perhaps  _ you _ have a little crush. I’ve never seen you act that way towards someone you don’t know.”

 

Draco bit his lip. “I don’t really know what happened, to be honest.”

 

“So you admit it!” Blaise called, clearly pleased with himself.

 

Draco glanced nervously up and down the hall, muttering once more, “Why can’t you just be quiet for once, Blaise?”

 

“Right, sorry. So you admit you’re into guys?”

 

“When did I ever say that?” Draco asked defensively.

 

“If you’d just let us  _ talk _ about this in all honesty for once, Draco, I think your life might be a lot easier. I could help with everything! And besides, you’ve implied it before.”

 

“Okay, fine,” Draco said softly. It was the first time he’d ever admitted it to anyone. “I’m… I swing that way,” Draco finished, unable to actually say the rest of it. “But to be fair, before I implied it because you gave me no other choice.”

 

“Lovely,” Blaise said, clapping his hands together, ignoring the final comment. “So, you clearly have no shot in hell with Potter, but I think we could work with that Beauxbatons boy. He seemed like he might be interested.”

 

“You are not setting me up with anyone,” Draco said in a very finalizing manner. “And when have I ever said anything about Potter?”

 

“You forget that I’m good at reading you, and that is not true. I will do whatever I please. I promise I will not out you, but I may or may not say some leading things to convince someone to ask you out.”

 

“Please don’t,” Draco groaned. “If my parents ever find out about this… Well, it wouldn’t end well. It’ll be easier to just go on pretending it’s not true and that no one I like could ever like me back.”

 

Blaise frowned. “I don’t think I’m game for that, but if you’re really that worried…” Blaise trailed off. “However, when—and yes,  _ when _ , not  _ if _ —you decide that you would like a boyfriend, I am totally on board with setting you up with someone. Or, you know, just experimenting if you feel like it.”

 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Okay, two things. First, why? And second, did you really just say what I think you said?”

 

“To answer the former: I don’t know. I just feel like it. I’m finally making progress as your friend, and I think that you should have other friends, too. Real ones. And I think you deserve to have someone you don’t have to feel uncomfortable about truly loving. As to your second question”—he smiled roguishly—“what did you think I said?”

 

Draco shook his head. “You, Blaise, are a strange soul.”

 

“For what? Wanting to lend you a hand?”

 

“Yes! I mean, I’ve done nothing but push you away, and yet here you are, still coming back and demanding to help me!”

 

“Well, perhaps you should get used to it. It’s called ‘being friends.’”

  
  


The following morning, Draco, who couldn’t sleep (he wasn’t able to stop thinking about the upcoming events that would determine whether or not he would have to actively participate in ensuring Cedric Diggory’s death), decided to get up earlier than he usually would have on a weekend and head down to the Goblet of Fire out of genuine curiosity towards who would be entering. He, of course, already knew who the most likely people were to get their names thrown out of the Goblet, but he was interested to see who all would put their names  _ in _ .

 

As he walked into the entry hall, he saw Potter, Granger, and Weasley all standing to one side, undoubtedly discussing the same thing he was wondering about, but he decided to leave them be. In just over 11 hours, Potter might be slated to begin some of the darkest times of his life, so Draco figured he could give the boy a break for a bit.

 

He tore his gaze away from the trio and moved into the corner to avoid unwanted eyes following him, and watched as a Gryffindor from the Quidditch team put her name in.

 

Following her, Fred and George Weasley attempted to enter and were hurtled backward, beards sprouting from their chins. He suppressed the urge to start laughing. They hadn’t honestly thought that they could get past an age line drawn by Albus Dumbledore himself, had they? But, he supposed, someone was going to have to.

 

As they walked out to the hospital wing, they passed by Draco. “What are you smirking at?” George snapped at Draco. Draco paused, wondering if he should fight back. He really wasn’t in the mood at the moment and didn’t feel like coming up with some retort that he didn’t even mean, so he just shook his head and let the two pass. They seemed slightly weirded out that he hadn’t said anything, but he just didn’t have the drive in him to yell something hurtful after them, so he allowed them to keep right on walking.

 

As he was watching people enter, he was slowly beginning to think of Cedric and the fact that in less than 24 hours, he might be hard at work engineering the seventh year’s death. It made him feel sick inside; he didn’t want Diggory to die. He didn’t want to have to make that call, to decide that Diggory’s life was less important than Potter’s just because Diggory wasn’t going to stop the Dark Lord.

 

Draco watched the Beauxbatons lot walk in following Madame Maxime, and he caught Adrianne’s eye. One by one, each of the students cast their names into the Goblet and then dispersed to watch others do the same.

 

Adrianne walked over to Draco and said, “Do you mind eef I seet ‘ere?”

 

Draco cocked his head. “No, not at all, but don’t you have anyone from your school that you would rather sit with?”

 

“None of my friends passed ze test to enteer. Zey ‘ave all stayed be’ind at ze school razher zan come to ‘Ogwarts.”

 

“Oh,” Draco said. “So, something you should probably know about me before we start hanging around each other—I have a reputation to uphold because of who my family is.” He shouldn’t be encouraging this friendship. But he couldn’t help it; something about Adrianne was very compelling.

 

Adrianne raised an eyebrow. “And who might your family be?”

 

“It doesn’t really matter, but you should know that I do need to act a certain way towards certain people, and that isn’t going to change.” If he was going to be friends with this guy—which, evidently, he was—he might as well be straightforward to begin with. Well, with most things.

  
  


Hermione frowned across the hall at Malfoy while Harry and Ron giggled to each other about what had happened to Fred and George.

 

Malfoy was talking to one of the Beauxbatons boys, which was not unusual on its own, but something about the way he was moving was. It was like he was unused to something, and like he didn’t want to seem… vulnerable?

 

No, maybe that wasn’t it. But it didn’t seem too far-fetched, did it? He was probably extremely insecure about himself, being such a bully, and he probably wouldn’t like being exposed.

 

She narrowed her eyes as she watched him fidget with his hair, something she had never seen before. He didn’t even seem to realize that he was doing it. It looked like a subconscious movement, like he was trying really hard to present himself in a way that would please the other boy, but kept fidgeting because he was unsure of himself.

 

That realization caused her to pause for a second. That was how she had seen many of the Gryffindor girls act towards Harry at times, and how she’d seen Ron act around that Beauxbatons girl he claimed was veela.

 

Hermione opened her mouth to say something to the boys, but after just getting out, “Hey, does Malfoy seem…” she decided that perhaps she shouldn’t continue.

 

“Seem what?” asked Ron, immediately removing himself from his conversation with Harry.

 

“No, it’s probably nothing. Never mind,” she backtracked. If she was right, it definitely wasn’t her place to say anything.

 

“No, really, what?” Harry pressed, now watching Malfoy as well.

 

“I don’t know. Does it seem like maybe… never mind. You’ll laugh.” She stopped again.

 

“Oh, come on!” Ron groaned. “Now we just want to know!”

 

Well, it wasn’t like they’d believe her anyway. “Oh, alright. Does it seem like he’s flirting with that Beauxbatons boy?”

 

Ron and Harry fell silent for a moment, observing as Malfoy laughed at something the Beauxbatons boy had said.

 

“I dunno,” Ron said. “I doubt it, but maybe he’s trying to pull him onto his side.”

 

“Right,” Hermione muttered.

 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “He couldn’t possibly swing that way. And even if he did, I doubt he’d know how to flirt.” He and Ron laughed quietly at the thought.

 

Hermione nodded silently, but thinking back, she wasn’t so sure. It might explain why he picked on Harry so much. Perhaps he was just trying really hard to make sure that his parents never found out.

 

At that moment, Malfoy glanced over and saw Hermione watching them, and then said something to the Beauxbatons boy, and got up, walking off in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room.

 

The other kid stayed sitting there for a moment or two before glancing back at Hermione, Ron, and Harry, who all quickly looked away.

 

Out of the corner of their eyes, they saw him stand and walk into the Great Hall. Hermione wondered if she should talk to him about it, but immediately decided that was a foolish decision. She should probably just let it go.

  
  


Draco glanced across the hall to see Granger watching as he and Adrianne conversed, and looked back at the other boy. He knew the look that she had on her face—she had figured out something was going on.

 

“Adrianne, you know how I was talking about my reputation? That girl over there, see? With the bushy hair? I think that she thinks something about the two of us sitting here is unusual, so I believe it would be best if we continue this conversation elsewhere.” Might as well be honest.

 

“Euh… okay, eef you insist. Would you like to return to ze carriage wizh me?”

 

“No. Thanks, but I think I’m going to go back to my dorm to finish up some homework,” Draco replied. It was a bit of a lie, but he figured that the two of them seen leaving together would lead Granger to be even more suspicious—no matter what she had put together so far—so he got up, giving a quick goodbye to Adrianne, and headed back to the Common Room where he intended to wait and talk to Blaise until he was ready to go eat breakfast.

  
  


As Draco walked into the Great Hall that evening, he felt the future pressing in on him. He was pleased to see that Snape was still entering, and quickly cornered him, whispering, “What do you think will happen? Did you do everything you could?”

 

“I did, but the outcome of this is still uncertain. Only time will tell.”

 

Draco nodded, and went to the Slytherin table while Snape walked up to sit with the teachers.

 

The feast began, but Draco sat without touching his food, as he often did.

 

This time it was not because of his own personal feelings about himself. It was because of what he knew might be coming.

 

His insides were knotting themselves into uncomfortable positions as he sat, the anxiety slowly building.

 

Finally, the plates were cleared, and Draco knew that it would be any second now. Any second until he knew that they had either won or had to begin the long, tedious exercise of watching the future closely and observing as things went down, pulling strings behind the scenes.

 

When Dumbledore read the first name—Viktor Krum—Draco did not clap with the others. Instead, he wrung his hands under the table and attempted to keep himself composed.

 

The second name was revealed—Fleur Delacour. Draco took in a steadying breath, praying that Potter’s name would not come out and that this would be a much easier year than what he knew it probably would be.

 

The third—and hopefully final—name leaped from the Goblet of Fire—Cedric Diggory.

 

Draco sat in deathly silence as everyone applauded and cheered—not because he was still questioning the events of the future, but because he could feel them coming. Everything simply seemed too happy and too perfect for anything to happen but for Potter’s name to be called. He met Snape’s gaze, and he could tell that the man felt the same, that Potter was about to become the second  Hogwarts Champion.

 

And, just as he was thinking it, one final piece of parchment flitted through the air into the headmaster’s hand—Harry Potter.

 


	10. Number Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is during “The Fourth Champion,” which is the seventeenth chapter in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Also, sorry for posting so late--the Winter Formal dance at my school was yesterday and one of my friends decided to drag me to it... so I got back really late and didn't have enough energy to post a chapter. =) Anyway, here it is now.

****A sense of dread filled Draco as he watched Potter walk slowly up to the room where the other Champions were waiting and realized that this was their absolute last chance to make sure that he did not end up as one of the Champions. If Snape couldn’t convince the judges, they were going to have to up their game more than a few notches.

 

If this didn’t play out well, he knew what that meant. He would have to be twice as cruel, twice as calculated, and twice as cold as before; he had to ensure that Potter kept going, kept searching, and, above all, he had to make sure that Potter walked out of Hogwarts this year alive.

 

But that also meant that Diggory’s death was more than likely. Yes, as Snape had said, he had not seen the  _ only _ possible futures, but he had seen the most probable ones, which meant that he was sentencing Diggory to death while setting up Potter for the life of a champion.

 

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

 

On one hand, one of them was going to die no matter what.

 

On the other, he was saying by doing this that he had the right to decide which one of them kicked the bucket.

 

On the first hand, he was setting things up so that the wizarding world would survive and that Voldemort would not have absolute power.

 

But on the second, how could he be sure that they wouldn’t survive without Potter? There was always the chance that they didn’t  _ have _ to have Potter to win the war.

 

He took a silent breath, trying to calm himself down. It was true that he didn’t know the final outcome for sure. It was also true that he knew the most likely ones. He couldn’t back out of this because he felt it was wrong—if he did that, he was sentencing the wizarding world to almost certain death.

 

He crossed his fingers, silently praying for Snape to get through to the judges, to make this turn out right because, to be honest, he did not want to participate in any of this, even though he knew that he had to. Somehow, it seemed more okay to watch from the sidelines than actively be involved.

 

But he would have to, and he knew that. It didn’t often happen, but sometimes he got a vague sense of how the future would play out without actually seeing anything. It only happened when it was vitally important to many other events following it, and this was one of those times.

 

This was not going to go the way he wanted it to.

  
  


This was Severus’s last chance to save make sure that Potter did not participate in the Tournament and secure a future in which the wizarding world made it through, and he knew it. He would have to do his absolute best, try his absolute hardest, because if he fell short, Potter would have to go through hell to survive.

 

Unfortunately, his best was not enough.

  
  


Draco exited the Great Hall, still uncertain of the finalized results, but having a pretty good idea of what the future held.

 

“No luck,” he heard from behind him. It was Snape. “I am sorry, Draco.” His voice was soft, and he did—for once—sound like he was actually sorry, rather than the sarcasm he usually gave. “I could not convince them to exempt Potter from the Tournament. He will have to participate, and it may result in his death.”

 

Draco nodded, knowing what this meant. “I figured. I could feel it.”

 

“Get some rest. We will discuss a new course of action in the morning.”

 

“Yeah… okay,” Draco murmured, feeling himself sink further down.

 

He turned on his heal.

 

He didn’t want to do this. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Diggory was a good kid; he didn’t deserve to die, even if his death meant the end of the wizarding world. Why couldn’t there be a way that both Potter and Diggory could live? And since there wasn’t, why did it have to be Draco that had to make sure that this turned out fine? Why was life so unfair?

 

He took a deep breath. He needed to stop being such a stuck-up prat. He was the one who was going to have to get down in the dirt since no one else was, and he had to accept that.

 

As he walked back to the Slytherin Common Room, he stared at his feet, deeply frustrated with the night’s events.

 

He willed himself to not start crying right then. He wasn’t strong enough to go through this on his own.

 

He was so engrossed with his anger and annoyance and frustration and sadness and disappointment that he did not see who was approaching until they almost ran straight into each other for the second time in two nights.

 

“Ah, good ev’ning, Draco,” Adrianne said.

 

“Oh. Hi,” Draco said, trying to compose himself. He took a breath, steadying himself. How could he make it through the year if he couldn’t make it through a single conversation? He was being silly. He just needed to buck up and make the best of his situation—that was all he  _ could _ do, after all.

 

“Interesting change of events, yes?”

 

“Yeah,” Draco said, yelling at himself mentally for allowing his depressed feelings to bleed into his words.

 

“Do you know ‘ow ‘e did it? Eenter ‘imself into zhe competition?”

 

“No, not at all. I doubt he would have the brains to enter himself at all, let alone get the Goblet of Fire to allow him into the Tournament as a fourth Champion,” Draco said harshly, and he sort of meant it. If the twin Weasleys hadn’t been able to get across that line, there was no way that Potter could have.

 

“Oh, well, zat eez all right—zat you do not know,” Adrianne said, seeming surprised at the hostility in Draco’s voice. The two of them fell into step beside one another. “On a differeent topic, why do you zeem so concerned of zat Gryffindor watching us? And why do you zeem so hezitant to be around me?”

 

“Because of the consequences it could have,” Draco responded honestly.

 

“And what conzequenzes may zhose be?” Adrianne asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Draco said looking down, not wanting to admit the truth—that he just couldn’t seem to regulate his usual snotty, stuck up self around the Beauxbatons student and the fact that if his parents caught wind of it, he would be dead.

 

“Doez eet ‘ave anyzing to do weeth you liking boys?” Adrianne prodded. “I apologize eef I took zat too far,” he added, looking like he wasn’t at all sorry and more like he already knew the answer.

 

“No, no, I guess it does,” Draco said, deciding that it would probably be better to just admit it than deny it. That way, he could clearly ask Adrianne… “Don’t mention that to anyone though, please? I don’t want that getting out. I mean, if my parents knew…”

 

“I understand,” Adrianne responded quickly. “I compleet’ly understand.”

 

“Thank you,” Draco whispered.

 

“I ‘ave dealt with a difficult ‘coming out,’ as is of’n said in Eenglish,” Adrianne told Draco. “I would not dream ov revealing such a secret.”

 

“Thank you,” Draco said, surprised.

 

“No probleem,” Adrianne smiled. “Eef you ev’r wish to talk wizh someone, I will be ‘ere.” He gave Draco a meaningful look, who gave a quick nod back. “I know ‘ow hard eet can be to live wizh a secret such as zat. But per’aps you should be heading to bed now? Eet is getting late. Unless you wanted to come back wizh me…”

 

“No! I mean, no thanks. Er… goodnight,” Draco said, suddenly flustered.

 

Adrianne gave him a quick wink and a roguish smile and wandered off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, on Tuesday I'm releasing the first chapter of "Shadows and Spies," which is a sequel to "Chemistry." However, you don't need to read one to read the other. It's a Hermione/Ginny pairing and I'm really excited about it. Check it out if you're interested in reading more of my work!


	11. Life and Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene right before Potions class (where they try to hex each other) is very similar to the book—just a disclaimer. This chapter takes place during “The Weighing of the Wands,” which is chapter eighteen in the book. Also, end of the year tests are starting, so I can’t promise that I’ll be able to keep my posting schedule up for the next few weeks, although I can promise that I will finish the story, so if I miss an update, please don’t worry. At most, I’ll miss the next three or four posts, but I can’t imagine that happening. It’ll probably only be one or two.

“What are we going to do?” Draco asked, sitting down. No time for pleasantries; this was something they had to discuss immediately.

 

“Deliberating on past events,” Snape began softly, “I believe that the best course of action is to take him down as far as we deem safe. Being a Gryffindor”—he gave a slight sneer—“he does his best with something to fight against. If he feels he must prove something, then he will. If he feels as though his enemies are trying to prevent him from winning, but his allies expect nothing but success, then he will have no choice but to play to the best of his ability.”

 

“And what if his best isn’t enough?”

 

“Then we will find another way. But for now, it would be most beneficial to stay as uninvolved as possible. The last thing we need is for people to start pointing fingers.”

 

“And what do we ‘deem safe?’” Draco asked, quoting Snape’s earlier comment.

 

“If we see him slipping, we stop.”

 

“Okay,” Draco said, not sure what else he  _ could _ say.

 

“You cannot allow yourself to fall short, Draco,” Snape said, catching Draco’s eye. “It will be difficult, yes, to cause him such pain, but you must not allow your own emotions to cloud your judgment. You can only stop if you fear Potter’s mental health is at risk; otherwise, proceed as planned. Keep making remarks, comments, picking fights, keep moving until it is enough to make him win. I know you do not want to, but this must play out right. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” Draco said, looking away. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do this.

  
  


Care of Magical Creatures—the first time that Draco saw Harry after his name left the Goblet.

 

Before the action began, he took a deep breath and secured a sneer in place, watching as Harry walked down from the castle, trying to convey the idea that he wanted Potter to drop dead. Which, ironically, was exactly the opposite of what he wanted to happen.

 

He smirked at Crabbe and Goyle, then turned back to Potter and started talking, mocking Potter and his fan club.

 

It was mildly like vomiting up daggers. He hated every second of it but it had to be done. Because if not for him, who else would do it?

 

Luckily, however, Hagrid came out just then, interrupting him, and leaving Potter to imagine his own ending to the conversation.

 

From behind him, he could feel Blaise’s eyes boring into the back of his skull, willing him to turn around so that Blaise could know why Draco had done that. If Blaise asked later, he’d just say that he had to keep his reputation up. No one could know what he was really doing—he had no idea who was truly trustworthy, and even if he did believe that Blaise wanted to be his friend, wanted to be allies, there was no telling what Blaise would say when asked about anything—no telling what he would say if he was forced to.

 

He wanted to leave his new friend out of this.

 

While he was thinking things through, Hagrid had taken out a few of the last remaining Blast-Ended Skrewts. According to him, the beasts had been killing each other off because they had too much energy, so the class had been commissioned to walk them.

 

What fun. His day just  _ kept  _ getting better.

  
  


“Draco—”

 

“I don’t want to talk, Blaise.”

 

“Come on!”

 

“I said I don’t want to talk.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because.”

 

“Because why?”

 

“Because I know what you’re going to say.”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

“Yes, I do. You’re going to tell me that I don’t have to be that way to Potter.”

 

“Okay, well,” Blaise huffed, “I guess maybe you’re right. That was what I was going to say. But you don’t have to! I mean, sure you’ve got your father and everything, and I’m not saying that you’ve got to be  _ nice _ to him, but you like him, right? Just don’t be mean unless you absolutely have to!”

 

Draco refrained from snorting. He sort of  _ did _ “absolutely have to.” That was the point of all of this.

 

“I have a reputation to keep up, Blaise, and you know that. I’ve been acting that way towards him from day one—nothing’s changed.”

 

“Yes, something  _ has  _ changed: Now you’re friends with me, and I refuse to let you throw any shot you ever had with him down the drain.”

 

Draco raised an eyebrow at Blaise. “Two things. One: I already did that—throw everything down the drain, that is. Two: You promised you wouldn’t play matchmaker.”

 

“No, actually, I didn’t promise. I’ll lay off it for now, but seriously—if you’d just cut the crap with him for a little bit, maybe he’ll think that you’ve turned over a new leaf! Maybe he’d give you a shot!”

 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

 

“Then how’s Adrianne any different?” His life didn’t directly impact the fate of the world. And he wasn’t famous.

 

“Blaise—”

 

“Seriously!”

 

“Well, for one, he’s not a Gryffindor.”

 

“Yes, but he’s from Beauxbatons.”

 

“He’s also not Harry Fucking Potter!”

 

“You may have a point,” Blaise relented. The two were quiet for a second before Blaise said, “So, should I just focus on Adrianne, then? Try and set something up?”

 

“No!”

 

“Fine.” Blaise was silent for a moment. “Why not?”

 

Draco smiled slightly. “Because maybe I have a shot with him. And you meddling could screw things up.”

 

“That’s great! Did he tell you he was gay?”

 

“Yup. Right after he told  _ me _ that  _ I _ was gay, too.”

 

“Well, I hope things work out.”

 

“I’m not sure,” Draco said. “I guess I sort of do—I’d be a fool not to—but… well, what if things  _ do _ work out? Then what? I can’t ever  _ tell _ anyone—not with what my father would do.”

 

Blaise wrapped an arm around Draco. “Well, don’t think about that now. Just be happy that maybe you  _ will _ be happy.”

 

Draco nodded silently, thinking about what Blaise was saying.

  
  


Draco sat in his room, contemplating.

 

He couldn’t leave this year with any regrets, anything that should have been executed differently. Everything had to be done to the best of his ability. Screw that, everything had to be done  _ better  _ than to the best of his ability because even that wouldn’t be enough.

 

So what  _ could _ he do to make the future turn out?

 

He had to be worse to Potter this year, that much was for sure.

 

And he definitely had to get creative with it.

 

He glanced around the room, searching for inspiration, and then he saw it. A basket of pins that said “SPEW” on them, probably stolen from Granger. He smiled softly—not because of what he was about to do, but because he couldn’t believe what he’d just thought of doing.

 

He pulled out his wand, walked across the room, grabbed the basket, and headed downstairs.

 

He stayed up late that night transforming them into badges that would say “POTTER STINKS” and “Support CEDRIC DIGGORY—The REAL Hogwarts Champion.”

 

It took him a few days to finish, and each day he spent working on them, he felt guiltier and guiltier about them. Each time he sat down, each time he touched one, he felt his stomach twist. The pins seemed to be on fire, sometimes. Like they were eating away at his fingers as he began his attempts to change them—these were the representation of his wish for the death of a fellow schoolmate.

 

He was doing this to make sure that someone  _ died _ . Never mind that the rest of the world would live—he was orchestrating the demise of someone he’d talked to, been around for the last four years, someone that he didn’t even slightly dislike. He was playing God, pretending to be an all-powerful being, as though he should have that say—decide who lived, who died.

 

But regardless, the morning that he finished, he passed the badges out to his fellow Slytherins as they left the Common Room, telling them that they would “be able to show the Gryffindors they meant business” and “spit in their faces without ever having to say a word.”

 

At that, Blaise shot him a harsh look, saying, “Isn’t this a bit excessive?” but Draco ignored him. He was beginning to worry that Blaise could become a problem.

  
  


The first time he ran into Potter that day was right outside of Potions. As soon as he saw him looking, he smirked and shouted over, “Potter! Like the badges?”

 

His was on the “Support Cedric Diggory” side. He pressed it and it switched to “Potter Stinks.”

 

Granger sneered at him. “That’s so creative,” she deadpanned. “So funny, I almost forgot to laugh.”

 

“Oh shut it, Mudblood,” Draco snapped. Every time he said it, he surprised himself at how easy it was becoming to say things like it—he hardly had to think about it anymore.

 

In response to Draco’s words, Potter yanked out his wand, pointing it at Draco, and yelling, “ _ Furnunculus!” _

 

Well, that had worked.

 

He whipped out his wand, shouting, “ _ Densaugeo _ !”

  
  


After dealing with the repercussions of his new badges and getting a look from Snape that said he was doing well, Draco sat down in Potions feeling a little guilty for causing Granger’s teeth to do that, but more focused on how the rest of the class was going to go.

 

However, as Snape was starting the lesson, Draco was watching Potter and Weasley and realized that something was off. Neither was speaking to the other. In fact, they seemed to be flat out ignoring one another. They weren’t even _ sitting  _ by each other.

 

That wasn’t good. Potter had to have someone by his side who was willing to back him up, a friend, a reason to do well. If he didn’t have anyone by his side to lend him a helping hand, then this might not go down how it was supposed to.

 

He was going to have to do something about that if they didn’t get things worked out by the first task. Sure, Potter might still have Granger, but he’d always gotten the impression that he liked Weasley a little better as a friend.

 

Draco was in the middle of mulling this over when a third-year Gryffindor came bursting in—Colin Creevey, was it?—and interrupted Snape—never a good move—telling him that Potter needed to attend something having to do with being the Champion.

 

On his way out, Draco made sure that all the Slytherins flashed their “Potter Stinks” badges at Potter.

 

After that, Draco let his eyes glaze over and didn’t pay attention for the rest of class, only tuning in again when Blaise poked him saying, “Dude, it’s time to go. Are you asleep?”

 

“Right, sorry,” Draco responded, getting up, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Are you okay? You seem a bit down. Does it have anything to do with these badges? I mean—seriously, were they at all necessary?”

 

“I’m fine, Blaise, honestly,” Draco said, but it was a flat out lie.

 

“Draco…”

 

“Blaise,” Draco snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

 

Blaise bit his lip. “Okay, Draco, but I’m worried.”

 

“I’m fine,” Draco repeated, as if that would make it true.

  
  


“Excellent job with the badges, Draco,” Snape said.

 

Draco just nodded.

 

“Are you… is everything…” Snape was having a hard time finding the right words. This wasn’t his forte. “Is something wrong?” he finally asked awkwardly.

 

“No… I just… this is so much harder than before. It’s not even like I’m doing anything special, anything extra—it’s the same old, same old, but it feels different. This is silly… I’m sorry. I suppose this should probably feel better than before—at least now I’m bullying him to help the wizarding world, rather than myself.”

 

“So why does it feel worse?” Snape asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Because it means I’m basically killing someone!” Draco practically screamed it, tears prickling his eyes. He hadn’t realized that he felt so strongly about it. “Because I have to think actively every day about how I have to keep  _ him  _ alive and keep  _ Diggory  _ dead and how I have to choose the fate of so many other people and if I fuck up, we’re all gone!”

 

Snape opened his mouth, then closed it, not sure what to do. “Draco…”

 

Tears ran faster down his face; his body shook; he felt like he himself was going to die in that very moment. He wished that he could stop crying, but it had been a long time coming, and now that he’d opened the floodgates, he couldn’t close them again.

 

He felt a hand awkwardly being placed on his back, and he leaned into it. All he needed at that moment was someone who would be there for him forever.

 

But Snape was going to be gone soon, he remembered. Even Snape would vanish. If he succeeded in doing this, his godfather would be…

 

Gone.

 

**Chapter Release Date:** May 12, 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’re enjoying the story so far! Please leave a comment and tell me what you think! Also, that comment about what Hermione’s teeth had done--for those of you who haven’t read the Harry Potter books recently--was just about the curse he shot—it hit Hermione rather than Harry, the intended target, and caused her teeth to begin to grow rapidly.


	12. Hogsmeade

Weeks passed, and Draco kept up his charade, much to Blaise’s chagrin. But it was more important to save Potter than to save Blaise’s tolerance for him, so he just brushed off what Blaise said to him about it. Eventually, Blaise stopped commenting, accepting that Draco wasn’t going to quit.

 

When Rita Skeeter’s article about Potter’s past came out, Draco grudgingly accepted the fact that this provided him with more ammunition to use against Potter, which he didn’t particularly like the thought of. The past few weeks had calmed down a bit—something Draco had been relieved about, but he supposed that this was probably good in the long run.

 

As he glanced through the article, he wondered how much was true. It was Rita Skeeter, after all, but…

 

Well, she  _ was _ right about a few things—for one, Potter was rarely without Granger. He doubted that the two of them were dating, though. It seemed like Potter had a crush on Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw the year above the two of them, although he was guessing Potter wasn’t with anyone at the moment. But perhaps that was just his wishful thinking.

 

And then there was that quip about Potter crying himself to sleep over his parents. That was more likely to be true than Potter and Granger being an item, but he seriously doubted that, even if it was, Potter would have ever said anything like that to a reporter—he was a Gryffindor, after all, and brash and arrogant. Unless he was vying for some sympathy, he wouldn’t have brought that up.

 

But why did it matter? Draco wondered. He shouldn’t be concerning himself with the facts—all he should care about was what he could use to his advantage.

 

He glanced at his watch. Merlin. It was still only six. This was the third morning in a row that he’d woken before sunrise.

 

He rubbed his temples as he felt a headache coming on. He was not in the mood for this. But it had been several weeks since the last vision, so he supposed he should be thankful for how long it had been.

 

He took a deep breath, attempting to calm his fraying nerves and marched upstairs, determined not to let his worries get the best of him. After all, how bad could this vision be?

 

He remembered when they had started. It felt like eons ago, but in reality, it had only been six years. He was eight when he had the first one—the first one of the Dark Lord, attempting to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone. His father had been horrified.

 

“No son of mine shall carry any trait of  _ one of them! _ ”

 

“One of what?” Draco had whispered in fear.

 

“Lucius,” Narcissa murmured to her husband. “Your father was one! And you have to tell him someday.”

 

“No! He doesn’t need to know, nor will he ever!”

 

“Yes, actually, he does need to know!” Narcissa cried. “If the Dark Lord is making a play at return… then these visions won’t stop. You know what your father said about them—the first is a warning, the second is forever. If Draco has another vision, they won’t stop, and he has the right to know why!”

 

“No,” Lucius said, his tone deadly soft. It was one of the few times Draco had heard his father like that. “If he knows, he won’t be able to keep his fucking mouth shut and then we’ll all be damned to hell!”

 

“Lucius—”

 

“No, Narcissa, you don’t get a say in this.” His voice was starting to rise.

 

“I’m your wife!” Narcissa sounded enraged by his words.   
  


“And you’re not the one whose entire lineage is a lie!” Lucius practically screamed it, and then stormed from the room saying, “This is only the first one. We don’t know there will be another. And if the Dark Lord is returning, we have more important things to worry about.”

 

“If the Dark Lord is returning, Lucius, you know the visions won’t stop! You know that.” Tears were streaming down Narcissa’s face, and Draco had no idea what to do. He’d never seen his parents fight like this before, and he’d most certainly never seen his mother cry. Both occurrences would become steadily more common during the years to come, but one thing was certain: His mother had been right. The visions didn’t stop, and it ate at Draco’s soul not knowing what it was his parents were hiding from him, since it clearly had to do with him.

 

But when he did learn, he understood why they hadn’t said. He was hurt, obviously, but he understood their reasoning. No eight-year-old would have been able to bear the weight of a secret so large, so old.

 

Draco let out a sigh as he flopped onto his bed, trying to forget the past, knowing he should be more worried about the future.

 

He closed his eyes, willing the vision to get itself over with. He felt his body sinking—or was it just his mind? The blackness of his eyelids faded and the world was doused in pale colors. That was good. If the world wasn’t entirely in focus, entirely filled-in, that meant it would be over soon. It might not be drastically important to the future, but given the fact that it wasn’t black and white, it had to have some significance.

 

He glanced around himself. It was so calm—usually, his visions jumped around. It looked like he was in Hogsmeade. And there—there was that dog again. Just standing in the middle of the road. This was his second vision about the same one, so what importance did it have? Why did he keep seeing it? He needed to find out what day this was.

 

It was cloudy out and looked like it could rain, but there wasn’t any snow or frost on the ground, so… September? November? February? March? April? No… the trees weren’t covered in leaves, yet, so it had to be between February and March or September and November. Most likely of this coming year—he rarely received visions any further than eight months before they happened, and the ones that he did tended to be much more intense than this one. In that case, he could rule out September and November.

 

His eyes flew open. Light was shining through the window and Blaise was poking him.

 

“Finally. You were starting to scare me,” Blaise said. “You must have been having a nightmare or something; you were moving around a bunch and whispering to yourself. Your books were levitating, too…”

 

“Oh, sorry,” Draco said, a little disorientated. He hated being jolted out of visions like that, but the weaker ones didn’t bind him enough; almost anything could pull him out.

 

“You weren’t waking up. Anyway…” Blaise trailed off. “You should get going—you’ve already missed breakfast, and you don’t want to be late for class.”

 

Draco cursed silently. He hadn’t thought that this one had been so time-consuming, but then again, time seemed to flow differently… there. It did seem a bit like a place, after all, where those visions were. Or at least, a person. It beckoned him, brought him to the future, allowed him to See. All of them were like that. As though they were made of some untouchable substance that could be a mind or a spirit or a time or a place.

 

“Okay, yeah, sorry,” Draco said quietly.

 

Blaise watched him, as though unsure about why Draco seemed so docile. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

 

“No, not particularly,” Draco said, getting up. Blaise didn’t comment on the fact he was already fully dressed.

 

He grabbed his bag and headed out of the room. He  _ did _ need to talk about it, though. He needed to bring this information to Snape—it could, somehow, have something to do with Potter. Seeing as that was who all of his semi-important—and up—visions were about, perhaps there was a link. He could just be making a big deal out of it, but… Well, better safe than sorry.

  
  


“Sir, I keep Seeing a dog,” Draco said, sitting down in Snape’s office. It was well after dinner and there was no one else still wandering around the halls. That meant that they were quiet and dark, peaceful, almost, except for the fact that Mrs. Norris was creeping around, keeping an eye on everyone out of bed at this hour.

 

“Elaborate,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Right, sorry, I keep having visions about the same black dog in Hogsmeade. He’s about waist high and seems kind of haggard, like he was starved or something. I was wondering if he had any importance, that you know of, at least?”

 

Snape was quiet for a moment. “How do you know the dog is a ‘he’?”

 

“How is that relevant?”

 

“It just is.”

 

“Fine. I don’t know, just a feeling, I guess.” And the more Draco thought about that feeling, the more he felt like the dog was somehow human. He didn’t get that kind of feeling about an ordinary animal.

 

And perhaps Snape had some inkling of this too, because he seemed thoughtful, only to break the short silence with, “If he makes an appearance, I will know.”

 

“So, is he important?”

 

“No. Not in the slightest.”

 

Well, that was a flat out lie. “Then why do we have to ‘keep an eye out for him?’”

 

“He is merely another priority on our growing list of custodial duties. Do not question my decisions.”

 

Draco gave a huff. “If he’s important, can’t you just tell me? Wouldn’t it be better for me to be informed?”

 

“He’s not important. Drop it, Draco. Don’t you have homework to be doing?”

 

Snape was starting to get tense in the way he did when he was questioning his decision to do something. What decision was he questioning this time? It wasn’t like he’d flat out said anything. He was just a bad liar. Right? Or was that what he was annoyed with himself over? Was he just upset that he couldn’t lie better? Or was there more to this than Draco was realizing?

 

Draco gave a slight sneer and a, “Right, because obviously, you can handle this by yourself,” to which his godfather merely huffed.

 

“You do not want to alienate me, Draco. I am currently the only person that you can trust with everything, and it would not be wise to push me away.”

 

Draco knew Snape was right, but, in popular teenage fashion, he rolled his eyes and brushed off the comment, snapping out, “The other problem we have is Weasley. He and Potter don’t seem to be getting along.”

 

“That very well could be a problem. If you think that you’re so wise, why don’t you fix it yourself?”

 

Draco groaned internally. He supposed he should know better by now than to make arrogant or stuck-up remarks to his Professor.

 

“Unless, of course,” Snape continued, “you think that perhaps you need help? Maybe… you don’t have any ideas?”

 

Draco shot him a look. “Fine, yes, I need your help.”

 

Snape smirked, pleased to have won. “I believe the best cure for a fight between friends is time. If they are not back in each other’s good graces by the end of the First Task, we will intervene—Weasley seems to be a motivating factor for Potter.”

 

Well, so much for asking for help. “Do you have any idea what the First Task will even be?”

 

“Not in the slightest.”

  
  


Draco walked with Blaise through Hogsmeade that weekend in relative silence.

 

“So—”

 

“I was actually enjoying the quiet, Blaise.”

 

Blaise grumbled, “Fine.”

 

The two walked another three blocks before Draco relented. “What was it you were going to say?” he sighed.

 

“Why are you still being mean to Potter?” Blaise said, not missing a beat, almost as if it had only been seconds, rather than minutes, since Draco had so rudely cut him off.

 

“Blaise, we’ve talked about this before. My father—”

 

“Has nothing to do with this!” It was Blaise’s turn to intervene. “Merlin, I wish you’d stop lying to me, Draco! You know I can tell! So what’s this really about, hmm? Is it just you trying to build up walls so that no one can breach them? Are you scared about what would happen if someone found out? Because, newsflash! Adrianne isn’t much different!”   
  


“Lower your voice,” Draco snapped. “I don’t want to talk to you about this.”

 

Blaise folded his arms. “You should. I’m probably one of the only people here who knows the real you, but I feel like… I don’t know, I feel like I  _ don’t _ . But if you’d just tell me what’s going on, I could help! Because I feel like you’re shutting yourself off from the world, not letting anybody in, but it feels like you want to, like maybe you feel like you can’t, like this is… I don’t know, an attempt to die alone! But whatever is going on, Draco—I’m your friend! Your honest-to-Merlin  _ friend _ . All I want to do is help, and I could if you would just let me!”

 

“No, you can’t, Blaise.” He shook his head. “I need some air.”

 

He turned down the next corner, and Blaise had the good sense not to follow him.

 

He walked for what felt like hours, but he knew couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. 

 

While he walked, he thought about how much he wished he could talk to Blaise. Sure, he had Snape, and he was fine, but all Snape cared about at the moment was making sure Potter turned out alive, not whether Draco’s soul came out of the whole mess intact. The whole ordeal really was starting to take a toll on him. He almost scoffed at that thought—it wasn’t  _ starting _ to take a toll on him. It had since the day he had his first vision. Ever since the time he had felt that weight on his shoulders, of knowing the future, of having to make those hard calls if it came down to it… And he had no one by his side. He  _ couldn’t _ have anyone by his side.

 

He felt a pang in his chest. Blaise was right. He just wanted to be able to let someone else in.

 

Thrust from his self-pity back into the real world, Draco suddenly realized that he had no idea where he was.

 

Not bothering to think too much of it, he walked into a pub, deciding that he couldn’t be bothered to exercise caution at the moment. All he wanted was a place away from everyone he knew so he didn’t have to focus on everything he was missing in his life.

 

_ Buck up a little, would you? _ He thought to himself. There was no need to complain. He was born into this life and complaining wouldn’t get him out of it.

 

Regardless, the pub didn’t seem like too shady a place, so he sat down at the bar in front of a beautiful young woman.

 

“May I get you anything? A firewhisky, perhaps?” She gave him a flirty smile as she leaned forward, allowing her shirt to hang down just a bit further and her long, wavy locks to fall over her shoulders.

 

“Oh… er… no thanks, I’m underage, actually. I’d just like a butterbeer, please.” He wondered if perhaps he should have taken her offer, but discarded the thought immediately. There was no reason for him to be rash, despite the fact that… well, he supposed he already was being such, seeing as he had entered this place without any prior research. For all he knew, this could be some Death Eater only club, or worse—a gay bar.

 

He decided that both of those options were rather unlikely as the bartender poured him his drink.

 

“So, where’re you from?” she asked, flicking her hair as she reached under the counter to get a jug. Her voice had suggestion dripping from it, something he wasn’t extremely used to.

 

“Um… right around here,” he said, not sure how else to respond as she leaned forward a little more.

 

Just as he was getting uncomfortable, someone sat down beside him.

 

“Ah, Draco! Lovely seeing you ‘ere,” Adrianne said, smiling at him.

 

The bartender wrinkled her nose, watching as Draco glanced at him in relief. “You always get the pretty boys, Adrianne.”

 

“Ah, that is not true, though! There was Sam…”

 

“Right, right, have fun, you two.” She walked away and started flirting with some other unsuspecting subject.

 

“I’m not—” Draco began, but was interrupted by Adrianne.

 

“Relax, no one ‘ere will say a thing,” Adrianne comforted. “I take it you found your way ‘ere by accid’nt?”

 

“Er… yeah, why?”

 

Adrianne smiled softly. “Zis ees a place many like to come to be alone. None will speak of your presence ‘ere to others outside. Eet eez intended to be a place beyond judgm’nt, a place beyond news and gosseep.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. Zhere was one near my ‘ome, and I would go zhere a lot.”

 

“Why are you here, then?”

 

“To see you, of course.” Adrianne winked, and Draco felt himself blush. It didn’t even occur to Draco that Adrianne must have been following him if that had been his intent all along. All he could focus on was the way that Adrianne leaned towards him as he said it, his eyes twinkling mischievously, going nicely with that gorgeous smile of his.

 

“And why would you want to see me?” Draco whispered.

 

“Why do you think?” Adrianne asked, scooting closer.

 

Draco’s breath caught as Adrianne’s face came closer. Their noses were only a few inches apart.

 

Adrianne whispered, “Your call.”

 

Draco leaned just a bit further in, his heart pounding.

 

**Chapter Release Date: June 23, 2018**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to have another scene in this, but it’s getting a little long and next chapter was going to be short. *cackling wickedly* I guess you’ll just have to wait until next time to find out what happens…. Oh, and speaking of “next time,” I’m going to be gone and without WiFi for a little bit, so you won’t get a chapter next week. I know I just missed six weeks in a row and now it’s another one; I’m sorry….


	13. Lies and Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all of the kind comments that you've been leaving. You have no idea what they mean to me--every time I get an alert about someone leaving a comment, it makes my day better. I never know what to say to them, but I hope you know how happy they make me. <3

 

Draco’s first thought about Adrianne was that his lips were too soft. His second thought was that he shouldn’t be thinking.

 

And so he stopped thinking—he just let Adrianne kiss him, let himself become lost in his own emotions and feelings in a way he hadn’t been able to do before.

 

Unfortunately, it was his third and final thought after beginning to kiss Adrianne that ruined the moment.

 

_Just because he says these people won’t talk doesn’t mean they actually won’t._

 

“I have to go,” Draco said as he pulled back, hurriedly getting up.

 

“Draco…” Adrianne began. “Stay.”

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Draco said, slightly flustered. “People are expecting me back.” It was a lame lie and he knew it, but telling the truth seemed even worse. What would Adrianne think of a boy whose only thoughts were to appease his Daddy Dearest?

 

“Can zhey not wait?” Adrianne knew. Draco could tell from the sound of his voice. “I know you value your reputation, but can you not stay for a moment more? Eet would not change much eef you were late only a few moments.” He sounded a little hurt.

 

“My reputation matters because of what my family will think,” Draco said. “So no, it wouldn’t matter if I was late, but, Adrianne…. You have to understand.” No point in lying when Adrianne was already upset with him. “They won’t accept a child who is accepting, nor will they accept a child who is… who swings that way.” 

 

“Zhey will not find out. What ‘appens in ‘ere stays in ‘ere. I already said that.”

 

“What assurance do I have?”

 

“Zhey all ‘ave their own secrets. Eef zhey spill yours, you may spill zheirs.”

 

“I—”

 

“Steel wish to leave, regardless of my assurances.”

 

“It’s not like that, it’s just…”

 

“Just what?”

 

“I—I just—”

 

“No, go. I understand. You value your safety over your happiness, would rather be hidden in zhe closet because eet es safer zhan being in zhe light.” His tone was bitter and unforgiving.

 

“But—alright.” He got up, hurrying out before Adrianne could say anything else. He knew Adrianne was right—he should just buck up and give happiness a shot. It wasn’t like he even had to broadcast their relationship to the world—all he had to do was stay.

 

But he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to.

 

There was so much _“couldn’t”_ in his life, he thought angrily, and none of it was going to change just because he wished for it. That wasn’t the way the world worked—not for him.

 

But he really wanted to stay.

 

It was pouring rain outside, drenching the sidewalks and soaking through coats.

 

He kept walking. He couldn’t look back.

 

There was a rumble of thunder and then the pitter-patter of the rain on the sidewalk became more of a slam-slamming on everything.

 

 _Perfect,_ Draco thought. Perfect weather for what he was feeling.

 

After all, he had just had a chance to have a relatively safe, quiet relationship with a seemingly nice guy, which he’d thrown away because of his own fear. And now, thanks to his lack of courage, Adrianne wouldn’t even want to be friends with him!

 

He stormed back to the castle, a foul mood hanging above his head, identical to the seeping storm clouds lingering above the palace.

 

First Blaise, then Adrianne. What was wrong with him?

  


While Draco was with Adrianne, Blaise decided to roam around town. Since he didn’t have anywhere better to be, nor did he have anyone to be _with_ , he glanced around various shops, eventually deciding to head to the Hog’s Head.

 

But, not watching ahead of himself, he ran right into Potter.

 

He’d been looking at his feet, not paying much attention to where he was going, but still—it was as if Potter came out of nowhere! As if he’d been entirely invisible right up until Blaise ran into him!

 

But regardless, as he was speed walking to get to the Hog’s Head, he slammed into a seemingly nonexistent person, resulting in a Gryffindor falling to the ground with a cry of pain.

 

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Blaise asked without thinking. _Dammit. Shouldn’t have said that. Now he’ll think there’s more to you than meets the eye, which could get back to Mother and Father. You’ve gotten too soft, acting like this around Draco._

 

“Um, yeah, fine,” Potter said, brushing himself off as he stood up. Then he met Blaise’s gaze, frowning.

 

_Or, I could use this to my advantage—see how he takes a nice Slytherin. I don’t know what Draco is thinking about Adrianne—that guy doesn’t really seem right. Potter, on the other hand, could do well for Draco. As long as he’s a decent person._

 

“Great, sorry to run into you like that. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he said, smiling kindly at Potter.

 

“Er, right, neither was I,” Potter replied hesitantly.

 

“Of course. That’s fine.” He glanced at the ground and saw Potter’s bag still lying there. “Oh, you dropped this,” he said, picking it up and handing it back to Potter.

 

“Oh… thanks. I didn’t notice,” Potter responded, taking it from Blaise’s hand.

 

“No problem. Well, maybe I should be on my way. Sorry again,” Blaise said.

 

“Um… wait, your name’s Zabini, right? Blaise Zabini?” Potter stopped him.

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“No reason. But, I just… I thought you were always… kind of a jerk?” It came out as a question.

 

“Not all Slytherins are jerks, Potter. Most of us just have reputations to uphold.”

 

“But you’re all so…”

 

“Cold, yeah, I know.” He winked. “Don’t tell anyone we’re not.”

 

“Right… yeah, no I won’t. Is there a reason, though? That you’re being nice—sort of—to me all of the sudden?”

 

“Nope,” Blaise said, although perhaps he was a little too cheerful about it, because Potter raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Nope, but I’m not going to share, so scoot along. And this doesn’t mean we’re friends.” He snapped the last part out in a more normal Slytherin fashion.

 

“No, right, didn’t think it did. Um… bye, nice chat,” Potter said, still seeming weirded out.

 

Well, at least he was polite. Perhaps Draco _would_ have some luck. After all, Potter didn’t seem like the type of guy to spread another’s secrets, plus he seemed at least sort of alright with the idea that Slytherins weren’t all horrible. Maybe he could bring this to Draco, change Draco’s mind. Because really, what more did Draco want? If Potter was willing to consider Slytherins as nice… _ish_ …  and he wasn’t going to spread rumors, wasn’t that all that Draco wanted?

 

Of course, he’d have to wait and see if word got out that he wasn’t entirely a jerk. If that happened, he’d have far more problems than finding Draco a boyfriend.

 

He scowled at the ground. Maybe that hadn’t been the best move.

 

Regardless, Blaise continued on his path to the Hog’s Head.

  


Draco wasn’t even aware of where he was heading until he flopped down in a leather chair located in the dungeons. The calming feeling of the cold room was accompanied by the unfortunately slippery voice of—

 

“Is there a reason you have decided to occupy the space of my office, Draco? Or are you just here to sulk?”

 

—Snape.

 

Draco realized he must have been scowling, and tried to rid his face of emotion. “I—sorry. I wasn’t really in the mood to have to talk to anyone besides you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“You sound surprised.”

 

“It seemed as though the majority of your problems could be dealt with by Mr. Zabini.”

 

Draco should have known Snape had been keeping tabs on his friendship with Blaise. “His role in my life is not solely to ‘deal with my problems.’ But yeah, generally speaking, I can talk to him when need be, it’s just that he seems to view a lot of what I tell him merely as gossip.”

 

Snape raised an eyebrow. “So what is this about, if you don’t want him to talk? Is it about being a faerie?”

 

Draco sat up abruptly. “How did you…?”

 

“Draco, the only possible way for you to be having the sort of visions that you do is to be taking extreme hallucinogenic potions or to be part faerie. The latter seems more plausible, seeing as I doubt your father would permit you to be under the influence on such a regular basis. And if you are wondering about Trelawny’s ancestor that claimed to be a Seer—she was probably part faerie and simply did not wish to say so, as goes for most other past Seers.”

 

“Oh,” Draco managed to squeeze out. He supposed he shouldn’t have assumed Snape wouldn’t know, but… well, his father had hyped it up so much it had started to seem that no one else could physically know at all. His father was all about that one small detail—if the public found out that little secret—that, instead of being purebloods, they weren’t even pure-humans—they would be crucified.

 

It had started generations before when one of the Malfoy children went off and married a half-faerie around 1825. That was all that was left of the larger faeries’ blood lines (the smaller ones still existed in abundance—but they were different from their human-sized kin). The fae had been hunted for their abilities, which were seen by wizards as abominations, a sort of power that should only belong to those in charge. The faeries were crucified, tortured, jailed, and drowned. It was rather like the muggle Witch Trials, except the faeries couldn’t escape. Almost no one believed in their innocence, and almost no one was willing to be caught in cohorts with one, even when times were better.

 

So to have a _Malfoy_ marry one—because no one would have cared that she was only _half_ fae, nor that _he_ hadn’t known when he’d married her—would have been tragic. So they hid that detail from the public—after all, it wasn’t the media’s business, was it? And it wasn’t like her abilities would _persist_ throughout the coming generations, right? Wrong.

 

So the lie had started to protect their reputation, but it never ended. It was carried from person to person, father to child, until the First Wizarding War. Then it became survival—when the Malfoys were recruited by Grindelwald, it wasn’t as if there were a choice. You joined or you died. And once they became part of the ranks behind him, leaving was far from being an option. Voldemort was a similar story, what with—

 

“Draco?”

 

“Right, sorry, were you saying something?” he asked. He was usually better about not getting lost in thought.

 

“No, but you have not spoken for the last five minutes. Was I correct?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then what are you moping about?”

 

“I don’t think I can say,” Draco said, looking away from Snape. “You’d think differently of me.” He had no idea what Snape’s thoughts on anything really were. He knew that Snape had turned from being a Death Eater way back when, but that didn’t mean anything had changed. Just because he was fighting to keep Voldemort gone and Potter alive had no value. It might just mean that he was scared, or that he had decided being a pureblood wasn’t so meaningful after all—maybe both. That didn’t mean he thought differently about anything else.

 

Snape looked thoughtful for a few moments. “I do not care that you’re gay, Draco, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He sounded so _laid back_ about it. “I joined the Death Eaters. Do you really think I would be upset that you like men?”

 

Draco’s head shot up. “What? No, I’m not—”  


“Oh, of course not,” Snape said sarcastically. “And then I guess that I’m not Potions Master, either. Really, Draco?” Now _that_ sounded more like Snape.

 

“I—”

 

“If that is what you wish to say, we can pretend you aren’t.”

 

“No, no… I just… please don’t…”

 

“Tell your father, yes I know. Why would I? I have no incentive, nor do I have any problem with you.”

 

“Oh. Wow. Okay,” Draco said.

 

“Is there a specific reason that this is upsetting you today?”

 

“Well… one of the Beauxbatons boys seems to have a thing for me, but I’m not really sure what to do about it.”

 

“You should take a risk one of these days. You will never be happy if you don’t.” It sounded almost as if Snape was speaking from experience.

 

“I can’t help but feel as though maybe I should wait. At least until after Voldemort is gone. Because when he comes back, it will be so dangerous to be out around my parents.”

 

Snape looked thoughtful for a moment. “That is true. But no one has to know.”

 

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I just… I don’t know. I’m scared.”

 

“I would not expect anything else. You have to make a choice eventually, Draco—live in fear forever, or start making decisions for yourself. Now, if you have no other reason to be here than to mope, I may as well inform you that the first task of the Tournament is to steal the egg of a nesting dragon.”  
  
“Seriously?” Draco let his guard down, showing excitement and interest, the previous topic slipping from his mind. _That_ was what the Champions were expected to do?

 

“Yes, but not to worry. Moody is already helping Potter, and I do believe he has the intention to get Potter past the dragon and will do so to the best of his ability. Despite the fact that he seems risky, Moody may have a similar end goal and we may have to use him to our advantage, even if that does not seem like the best situation to be in. At this moment, direct advice may be more advantageous than attempting to give suggestions through shadows and trickery.”

 

“Okay,” Draco replied. He was actually thrilled—it meant he didn’t have to focus on the Triwizard Tournament—for now, at least—even if that did mean letting Moody do some of the work, as shady as he seemed.

  


Draco flipped a leathery page of an old book he’d found in the library.

 

He sat at a table in silence, watching Potter and Granger look through the shelves. He wasn’t really reading. None of the words he’d glanced at in the last ten minutes had processed at all—he was more concerned with the Golden Trio’s (although, now he supposed it was more of a Golden Duo) attempts to find something to defeat the dragon with. They knew by now what the task would be—Moody’s doing, Draco assumed, but maybe not—but seemed at a loss as to what came next.

 

He wished he could help. A few days ago when Snape had said he wouldn’t have to do anything he had been happy, but now he felt powerless. There was so little he could do in a situation like this—talking to Potter was out of the question, and leaving hints could only get him so far.

 

Anything. If he could do _anything at all,_ this would go better, wouldn’t end with Potter’s failure. Perhaps he should just trust Moody—he was a friend of Potter’s, it seemed, so he would probably take a direct approach, and that was better than anything Draco could do.

 

But he still wanted to feel like he’d done his best.

 

He glanced around the library, his eyes landing on a book he’d read last year. It was on curses that impaired the eyes—that would be helpful, right? After all, the eyes were the dragon’s weak spot. Unfortunately, Potter and his friends weren’t anywhere near the “C” section, and it wasn’t like he could simply hand them the book.

 

So how could he get it to them?

 

He smiled slightly to himself as he closed the book he hadn’t been reading and slunk silently over to the shelf, reaching up to grab the book.

 

Perhaps he should leave other books with it, just in case there was a problem with this one, Draco realized.

 

He glanced back over at Potter and Granger. Each of them was huddled over a different book, skimming through the pages, trying to find anything that would lead to a breakthrough. They were bound to be there for another few hours at least—he had time.

 

 _What else would help them get past a dragon?_ he wondered, racking his brain for any other books that he’d read that could do the trick. Transfiguration was a no go—Potter wasn’t any good at their own level, let alone NEWT level stunts. Stunning charms could only go so far—it would take a legion of wizards to create something powerful enough to keep a Hungarian Horntail down.

 

 _Some form of freezing incantation could be useful_ , Draco considered. Even if one wouldn’t stop the dragon itself, it could at least be slowed down. Plus, it would help protect Potter from becoming a shish kabob.

 

 _Arresto Momentum_ could be a useful charm, too, but he wasn’t sure if it would be strong enough to completely stop a dragon. _Well, it’s worth a shot. Besides, even if it won’t work, Granger should know—if it’s not strong enough to use, she won’t let him._

 

He grabbed two books on freezing incantations and one on levitation and anti-momentum charms. Then, heading to find a place to put them, he grabbed a book on the Hungarian Horntail in the hopes that it might draw the attention of Potter and his friend.

 

As he swerved around everyone, he tried to keep his head down, being careful to stay out of Potter’s and Granger’s lines of sight. If they thought he was in any way involved in the books he left, they probably wouldn’t even touch them.

 

As he was walking, he saw Potter lift his head for a moment, and their eyes met for just a second. And for just a second, it was like there was nothing else in the world, just Potter’s beautiful, beautiful eyes. He hadn’t noticed before, he realized, just how amazing they were.

 

Then the spell was broken as Potter cocked his head, as though to ask what Draco was doing. Draco remained motionless for a moment longer and then ducked his head down again, slipping between two rows of books, out of sight.

 

For a second, it had seemed like there wasn’t any hatred between the two of them, but Draco knew better than to accept his wishful thinking as fact.

 

He let out a breath. Maybe Moody did have this covered. But after a moment, he slipped out again and quietly put the books all laid out in a neat row two tables behind where the three were currently sitting, and then snuck back to his own table, praying that they’d take the bait. This time, Potter didn’t look up.

 

After about half an hour of waiting, he wondered if he should have made it slightly more obvious, but now the two were turned in his direction, so there was nothing he could do besides sit still and hope.

 

And then—Potter glanced up, spotting Draco watching him again. He had an expectant look on his face, as though waiting for Draco to do something.

 

Well… Draco wasn’t sure if Potter was going to find the books anyway, so he figured it couldn’t hurt. He jerked his head at the table he’d put the books on and mouthed, “Ready them.”

 

Potter remained still for a second, seeming slightly confused, but then turned around and walked to the table. He glanced up from the books, giving Draco a curious look.

 

Draco opened up his own book again, pretending to have no interest in what was happening as Potter said to Granger, “Look at these books, Hermione. Do you think any of these could be at all useful?”

 

“Yeah, actually,” she said as she glanced over them. “Where did you find these?”

 

“They were just here. Someone must have known we needed help.” As he said it, his gaze rested on Draco a few meters away and gave him a cautious smile.

 

Draco only nodded before standing up and leaving the library.

 

That had been… _interesting._ For a second it seemed like Potter was almost willing to trust Draco. That wasn’t how Draco had expected that to go at all. Perhaps it was just that he was getting that nervous for the upcoming challenge. If Draco were in his shoes, he’d have been willing to let just about anyone help him, too.

 

He hoped that Potter would be able to use something from one, or at the very least use one to form an idea. Because if not…

 

 _Moody better be up to par,_ Draco thought bitterly. _If Potter dies in this challenge I am going to be pissed at Severus for not letting me talk to Potter._

  


Draco sulked his way up the stairs to the Slytherin Common Room, flopping down on his bed. This thing he’d gotten himself involved in… it was so frustrating sometimes. And so, so lonely.

 

“You look grumpy,” was all Blaise said. The two hadn’t really talked since their argument in Hogsmeade.

 

“Thanks, Mr. Obvious,” Draco snapped back. “And you look cheerful.”

 

“I amend my statement—you _are_ grumpy. And yes, I am cheerful, thanks for noticing.”

 

“Still not helping. Why are you cheerful?”

 

“Fine—do you want to talk about it?” Blaise asked.

 

“Not really. Why are you cheerful?”

 

“Does it have to do with Adrianne? Or Potter? Or—”

 

“Blaise,” Draco snapped, grabbing his arm and dragging him out into the hallway. “You can’t talk about that sort of thing around other people!”

 

“Right, right, sorry. It’s just… we haven’t talked since our fight, but I did talk to Potter. I was nice to him, and he was sort of nice back. I’m sure he’d do the same for you!”

 

“I don’t know, Blaise. I’ve been a lot worse to him and his friends. And are you ever going to answer my question?”

 

“No, I’m not going to answer! But why are you being so resistant? Why do you have to keep lying?”

 

Draco rubbed his face. “Because I have to.”

 

“What? No, you don’t, Draco! I will listen to whatever it is and I won’t tell anyone! And no matter what it’s about, I won’t think differently of you! That’s what best friends are for! They help each other bury the body, no matter what! You do not have to lie to me.” With his final sentence, his voice fell to a lower, gentler tone that made Draco really want to believe him.

 

“Best friends?”

 

“Yeah. I think we’re getting there.”

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

Blaise smiled softly at him and neither of them said anything for a moment, until Blaise interrupted the silence with, “So? Why do you think you have to lie?”

 

“Blaise.” Draco’s voice was very soft and very serious. “I have to lie because that’s the only thing standing between failure and success. I have to make sure this goes right—if it does not, we will all die.” He put stress on each of his final words.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Draco sighed, leaning against the wall. He wanted so badly to tell someone— _anyone_ —about everything, someone that wasn’t just going to give him orders.

 

He knew he shouldn’t, but… “I have visions of possible futures. And, at the end of this year, Potter will go to a graveyard and the Dark Lord will rise again. Whether he wins the Second Wizarding War or not will be determined by whether or not he survives the fight directly afterwards. The way I’ve been acting towards Potter is to push him. He has to be ready to fight the Dark Lord when the time is right, and he won’t be without a lot of prep work. The Dark Lord will be a lot stronger this time than ever before.”

 

“Wow. That’s… deep. Is that why you’ve been pursuing Adrianne instead of Potter?”

 

“I haven’t been… _pursuing_ Adrianne!”

 

“Then what do you call it?”

 

“I—I don’t know!”

 

“So nothing has happened?”

 

“No, of course—well, yeah, sort of. He kissed me.”

 

“Really? And?”

 

“And, what?”

 

“And, what did you do?”

 

“I left!”

 

“Why? This was your chance!”

 

“Because! What if my father finds out?”

 

“Oh, Draco. You have to stop worrying about that. Your father is going to be the death of you. And, if what you say is true, this war might go better if you are actually on Potter’s side, not just manipulating him from the sidelines.”

 

“You make it sound so nice,” Draco said sarcastically.

 

“Yes, well,” Blaise huffed. “But, you know, you should give yourself a chance to be happy.” That was exactly what Adrianne had said. “I don’t know how I feel about Adrianne, but if you like him, give it a chance!”

 

“I don’t want to argue about this.”

 

“Fine. But… if you don’t mind me asking, how can you see the future? Are you, like, a Seer or something?”

 

“No, I’m not a ‘Seer or something.’ And I don’t see the _future_ , I see _possible futures_.”

 

“Alright, whatever. Still—how?”

 

Draco supposed he’d already told Blaise this much—it wasn’t like Blaise was about to abandon him _now_.

 

“I’m part fae.”

 

“You’re _shitting_ me!” Blaise shouted, completely in disbelief.

 

“Blaise! Lower your voice!” Draco hissed, glancing cautiously up and down the hall. “But no, I am not ‘shitting you.’”

 

“But… you’re a _Malfoy_ ! How did that _happen_?” Blaise whispered back.

 

“I don’t know! Ask my great-great-great-something-parents!”

 

“Why are they all still so stingy about blood status, then?”

 

“In the beginning, it was because they were worried about how the world would view them, and I guess it still sort of is. The fae were hated, after all, and even then they—my family—were Pure Blood elitists. But then part of the family ended up in league with Grindelwald, and after that, it was just too dangerous.”

 

“Wow, okay, that’s a lot to take in,” Blaise said, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Are you… upset?” Draco asked cautiously.

 

“No, no, you had a right to keep that a secret,” Blaise said quickly.

 

“No, not about me keeping it a secret, about me being… _that_.”

 

“It’s not a bad word, Draco. And no, I’m not upset with you for that. It’s not something you can change. I’m just surprised. And besides, the fae were only hated to begin with because humans were worried they would try to take over the world—or something.”

 

“So… you’re not upset?”

 

“Not in the least. We’re friends, Draco! How could I ever be upset with you over something like this?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on FFN (also @sosaveme) or email me (sosaveme035@gmail.com)!


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